THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Mr    Clay's  Ovors.-i-r  outwitu-d.  See  page  02. 


THE   KIDNAPPED 


THE    RANSOMED. 


BEING  THE  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 


PETER  STILL  AND  HIS  WIFE  "VINA/ 


AFTER  FORTY   YEARS  OF  SLAVERY- 


BY 

MRS.  KATE    E.  R.  PICKARD. 


liijj  Hit  |ntrobuttion, 
BY   REV.  SAMUEL  J.  MAY; 


an 
BY   WILLIAM    H.    FURNESS,    D.D. 

THIRD  EDITION. 

SYRACUSE: 

WILLIAM      T.     HAMILTON 

NEW  YORK  AND  AUBURN  : 
MILLER,    ORTON    AND    MULLIGAN. 

1856. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  One  Thousand  Eight  Hundred 
and  Fifty-six,  by 

WILLIAM    T.   HAMILTON, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Northern  District  of  New  York. 


E.  O.  JENKIN8, 

anir 

No.  26  FKAJTKFOET  STEEKT. 


LEVIN       STILL, 

AND  OF 

ALL   THE   UNRANSOMED, 

WHO  LIKE   HIM   HAVE   FALLEN   EVEN  WHILE   PANTING   TO   BE   FREE, 

AND 

WHO  NOW  LIE  IN  NAMELESS  UNSOUGHT  GRAVES, 
THE     VICTIMS     OF     AMERICAN     SLAVERY, 

&  Ij  i  8   $  0 1  u  m  t 

IS    DEDICATED. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  L 

THE     KID  SAPPER. 

lint  Recollections— The  Kidnapper— The  Journey  to  Kentucky— Levin  and  Peter 
Sold  to  John  Fisher,  of  Lexington       -          -          -          -          -          -          -16 


CHAPTER  H. 

EARLY   EXPERIENCE   IN   SLAVERY. 

Characteristics  of  the  Master  and  Mistress— Treatment  of  the  Tonne  Slav 
Peter's  Visits  at  Ashland— Friendship  of  the  Sons  of  Henry  Clay— A  bright 
Hope— The  Disappointment— Peter  Sent  to  the  Brickyard— Standing  in  the 
Wheelbarrow SI 


CHAPTER  HI, 

MASTER      XATTIE. 

Peter  and  Levin  again  Sold— Characteristics  of  Master  Natde  Gist— His  Discip- 
line—The Sunday-School • 


CHAPTER  FV. 

THE   TOBACCO    FACTORY. 

Mr.  George  Norton — Mr.  Kisich — Longings  for  Freedom-  Spencer  Williams — 

Peter's  Combat  with  Mr.  Norton          -     • 

[Tin 


Vlil  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE     SEPAE  A"T  ION. 

Excitement  at  Master  Nattie's— Preparations  for  Removal— Master  Nattie's 
Good  Bye— Levin's  Departure— Peter  enters  the  Service  of  Mr.  John  D. 
Young— Evenings  at  Mr.  Clay's— Aaron,  the  Coachman  -  -  -  56 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MASTER  NATTIE'S  DEATH. 

Peter  is  sent  to  the  Plantation— Master  Andrew  returns  from  Alabama— Master 
Nattie's  Illness— His  Death— The  Will— Aunt  Mary's  Contumacy      -         -     06 


CHAPTER  VH. 

THE   JOURNEY   TO   ALABAMA. 

Peter  leaves  Lexington — Scenes  by  the  Way — Holidays  at  Hopkinsville — Arrival 
at  Bainbridge— The  Brothers  re-united        ...---     70 


CHAPTER  YIH. 

FIRST   FOUR   YEARS   IN   THE   SOUTH. 

New  Scenes  and  new  Employments— The  Post  Office — Sunday  Employment  of  the 
Slaves— Master  Levi  Buys  a  Plantation— He  Marries— Peter  a  House-Ser- 
vant— Kindness  of  his  young  Mistress — The  Visit  to  Nashville — Peter's  Re- 
flections and  Resolutions  at  Twenty-one— Master  Levi  removes  to  the  Plan- 
tation—The "  Great  House"  - '  -  -  -  -  -  -  -77 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LEVIN'S     MARRIAGE. 

The  Master's  Opposition — Old  Jimmy  Hogun's  Plantation— Levin  and  Fanny 
are  married— Displeasure  of  the  Master  and  Mistress — Consequent  Persecu- 
cutions  ...........85 


CONTENTS. .  XI 

CHAPTER  X. 

VINA'S   EARLY   HISTORY. 

The  Foxall  Family— Invitation  to  Alabama— Aunt  Sally— Silas  separated  from 
his  Family— Mr.  Foxall's  Removal  to  Alabama— The  Failure— Vina  is  sold— 
She  leaves  Courtland— A  sad  Ride  - 89 

CHAPTER  XI. 

VINA'S  FIRST   YEAR  AT   MoKIERNAN's. 

Vina's  Introduction  to  the  Kitchen— First  Interview  with  her  new  Master  and 
Mistress — House  Service — Sad  Hours — Vina's  first  Whipping — She  goes  to 
the  Field— Visit  of  Mr.  Stout— Rosetta  goes  to  Nashville— Vina  visits  her 
Mother  -  -  -  •  -  .  .  .  .  .  .97 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   MARRIAGE. 

Peter  and  Vina  become  acquainted— Their  growing  Attachment — Peter  hesitates 
to  Marry — He  declines  going  to  Lexington — The  Departure  of  his  Master 
and  Mistress— Peter  and  Vina  are  married— Vina's  Clothing— Her  second 
Visit  to  her  Mother  ....;....  log 

CHAPTER  XIH. 

THE   NEW  CABIN. 

The  Return  from  Lexington— Master  Levi  proposes  in  vain  to  buy  Vina— Mr. 
McKiernan  removes  to  Bainbridge— Peter  builds  his  Cabin — The  Furni- 
ture— He  learns  Shoemaking — The  Flour-Barrel  -v  I  •  -  r  .  -116 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE     YOUNG     MOTHER. 

Advent  of  Little  Peter — Rest  of  the  Slave — Mother  at  night — Her  Sundays — 

The  Patch — Brutality  of  Simms,  the  Overseer — Vina's  Illness      '--•"-,       -   121 

CHAPTER  XV. 

DEATH   OF    A   KIND    MASTER. 

Master  Levi  again  visits  Lexington— Preparations  for  the  Return — A  Death 
Scene — The  Widowed  Mistress  comes  Home — Grief  of  the  Slaves— Arrange- 
ments of  the  Estate — The  Mistress  nobly  protects  her  servants  -  -  129 


ill  CONTEXTS. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

LEVIN'S  DEATH. 

Levin's  Health  Fails— Hia  religious  Feeling— The  Death  bed— The  Burial— Peter's 

Hope  crushed  ".         -        -  .  -         -         -         -         -136 

CHAPTER  XVH. 

THE  JAUNT  TO  FLORIDA. 

Aunt  Sally's  Troubles— Threatened  Separation  of  Families— Mr.  Peoples  removes 
his  working  Hands  to  Florida— Their  Return— Aunt  Sally's  Tisit  to  her 
Daughter— Aspect  of  Vina's  Cabin 138 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  SLAVE-MOTHER'S  GOOD  BYE. 

Gathering  in  the  Crops— Grief  in  the  Quarter— Preparations  for  Removal  to  the 
Coast— Aunt  Sally  parts  with  Quail— The  Flat-boats  stop  at  Bainbridge— 
Vina  is  summoned  by  Master  Andrew  to  see  her  Mother— Night  Scene  on 
the  River  Bank— The  final  Separation— Journey  down  the  River — The  Sugar 
Farm— Mr.  Peoples  returns  to  Mississippi— Aunt  Sally's  Death  -  -  143 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  MISTRESS'  SECOND  MARRIAGE. 

Mr*.  Gist  married  to  Mr.  J.  Hogun— Division  of  the  Slaves— Mrs.  Hogun  goes  to 
her  new  Home— A  Peep  at  Mr.  Hogun's  Plantation— Peter  as  Head  Man- 
Gist  Plantation  Sold  .••-'"".  .  .161 

CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   PLANTATION   "  BROKEN   UP ." 

Peter  hired  to  Mr.  Threat— An  Instance  of  Female  Chivalry— The  Political  Ex- 
citement of  1840— Its  Effects  upon  the  Slaves— Peter  is  hired  to  Mr.  Kier- 
nan  ------  157 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

BABY-LIFE   IN   THE    CABINS 

Vina's  care  of  her  Children— Mortality  among  the  Infants — Burning  of  Ann's 

Child— Consequences  of  being ''Pushed  in  the  Morning"  -         -   163 


CONTENTS.  X111 

CHAPTER  XXH. 

FACTS. 

Character  of  Mrs.  and  Mr.  McKiernan— Tina's  Contest  with  her  Master— The 
Lost  Shirt— Maria's  Confinement  in  the  Smoke-House—Released  by  Master 
Charles  -  •  -  -  167 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

PETER'S  TEAR  AT  MCKIERNAN'S. 

G  eneral  Aspect  of  McKiernan's  Plantation— Sketch  of  Tina's  Family  in  1841— 
Tina's  Industry  and  Economy — Punishment  of  Ann  Eliza — Religious  Ex- 
citement -  .-.---.-.  176 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

BURTON'S  REIGN. 

Personal  Appearance  of  McKiernan's  Slaves— Burton's  opening  Speech— Rebel- 
lion of  Lewis — His  Punishment — He  flees  to  the  Woods,  where  he  is  Joined 
by  two  Companions— Young  Peter's  Toothache — Hunting  the  Runaways 
with  Dogs— Frank  and  Old  Man  John  brought  in — Frank's  Punishment— Re- 
turn of  Lewis— The  Master  hands  him  over  to  Burton — Peculiar  Luxury  of 
an  Overseer — Scene  in  Lewis'  Cabin— The  Runaway's  Irons— Burton  shoots 
Abram— Ruined  Crops  — McKiernan  becomes  Dissatisfied— Burton  De- 
posed   •  -  -  .  -  -  182 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

FIRST   FOUR   YEARS   IN   TUSCUMBIA. 

A  Northern  man  as  Master— Peter  physically  comfortable— Tisits  to  the  Cabin- 
Marriage  of  Miss  Sarah  Gist— Division  of  the  Slaves  among  the  Heirs  of 
the  Estate— Peter  hired  to  Rev.  Mr.  Stedman— Taried  Duties— The  Pastor's 
Family— Peter  hired  to  Mr.  John  Pollock— Goes  to  Nashville  to  the  Whig 
Convention  of  1844— Camping  Out— Scenes  in  the  City— Fruitless  Efforts  to 
Escape  from  Slavery— Peter  hired  to  Mr.  Brady— A  new  Drop  of  Bitterness 
in  the  Slave-Cup  -..-..,  «  .  -  199 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

PETER   HIRES   HIS   TIME. 

Peter  hired  to  Mr.  Allan  Pollock— Private  Business  Arrangements— Success  in 
earning  Money— Consequent  Hopes  of  Freedom— Peter  hired  to  Mr.  Joseph 
Friedman— Increasing  Confidence  in  the  Integrity  of  the  Jew  Brothers— 
'       Employment  at  the  Seminary— Hired  for  another  Year  by  Mr.  Friedman    20d 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

PETER   BUYS   HIMSELF. 

Peter  Communicates  his  Wish  for  Freedom  to  the  Jew— Mr.  Friedman  proposes 
to  purchase  him — Peter  strives  to  Persuade  his  Young  Master  to  sell  him 
to  the  Jew — Circumstanp es  Change — The  sale  Effected — Scene  in  the  Coun- 
ting-Room—Sympathy  of  the  Tuscumbians— Generosity  of  Mr.  Friedman- 
Death  of  Peter's  youngest  Son— Peter  makes  his  last  payment,  and  re- 
ceives a  Bill  of  Sale  of  Himself— Cautious  Concealment  of  the  Fact  that  He 
was  Free — Preparations  for  going  North — Tuscumbians  excited — Farewell 
Visit  to  the  Cabin  at  Bainbridge  -  -  ....  219 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

JOURNEY   TO  PHILADELPHIA. 

Peter  leaves  Tuscumbia — Emotions  on  touching  the  Free  Soil  of  Ohio — Communi- 
cates to  his  late  Master  his  early  History— Leaves  for  Philadelphia — At- 
tempts of  Slave-Catchers  to  entrap  Him — Journey  over  the  Mountains — 
Arrival  at  Philadelphia  -  /  .»  V  237 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE   KIDNAPPED    BOY   RESTORED   TO   HIS   MOTHER. 

Peter's  Search  for  his  Kindred— The  Anti-Slavery  Office — A  Brother  Found — 
Doubts  and  Fears — Recognized  by  a  Sister — An  anxious  Night — Sail  up  the 
Delaware — Sees  Levin's  Likeness  in  a  Brother — Meets  his  Mother  -  •  £45 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

PETER'S  FAREWELL  VISIT  TO  ALABAMA. 

Peter  goes  to  Cincinnati— Receives  Free  Papers— Returns  to  Tuscumbia— Reports 
of  the  Abolitionists — Visit  to  Bainbridge— Peter  resumes  his  Labors— Pre- 
parations for  a  final  Departure  from  Slave-Land—Parting  with  his  Family 
— Difficulties  at  Paducah — Visit  to  a  Young  Master  in  Louisville — Journeys 
safely  to  Philadelphia 263 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  ESCAPE. 

Peter  consults  with  his  Friends  concerning  the  Ransom  of  his  Family— Seth 
Concklln  Volunteers  to  Rescue  them— Sketch  of  Concklin's  Character— Ilia 
Journey  to  South  Florence— Int«rvisw  with  Vina— Maeta  Young  Peter  and  T 


CONTENTS.  XV 

Levin — Returns  to  Louisville  to  complete  his  Arrangements — Vina  and  her 
Family  obtain  Passes — They  meet  Concklin  at  the  Skiff— Rowing  down  the 
River— They  Land  at  New  Harmony,  Indiana— Incidents  of  Travel  in  a 
Free  State  •  •  ...  -  -  -  .;.  .  -279 

CHAPTER  XXXTT. 

THE   CAPTURE. 

The  Cottage  Besieged — Slave-Catching  made  Easy — The  Jail — Concklin's  rash 
Fidelity— The  Telegraph— Concklin  Imprisoned— Arrival  of  McKiernan 
at  the  Jail — Return  to  Slave-Land — Concklin  missed  from  the  Boat — The 
Mistress  of  the  Hotel  at  Paducah.  proposes  to  buy  the  Fugitives  -  -  296 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

PETER   PLANS   TO   REDEEM   HIS   FAMILY. 

Evil  Tidinzs— Reminiscences  of  Slavery— Peter  Resolves  upon  Purchasing  his 
Family— Visits  Cincinnati  —  Kindness  of  Mrs.  Chase  —  Peter  returns  to 
New  Jersey — Goes  into  Service — Letter  from  Mr.  McKiernan— Efforts  to 
find  an  Old  Acquaintance— Mr.  Thornton's  Letter— Peter  Resolves  on  Start- 
ing out  to  Raise  Money  --  ------807 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"  HOW  DID   HE   GET   THE  MONEY  ?  ' 

Peter  starts  on  his  Travels — Testimonials  from  his  Employers  in  Burlington — 
He  visits  his  Brother  in  Brooklyn — Goes  to  Syracuse — Succeeds  in  finding 
an  Old  Friend,  who  testifies  to  his  good  Character  while  a  Slave — Goes 
then.ce  to  Auburn,  Waterloo,  and  Rochester,  N.  Y. — To  Boston  and  various 
Towns  In  that  vicinity— Visits  all  the  principal  Towns. in  Maine  and  New 
Hampshire — Returns  to  Burlington,  and  visits  Philadelphia— Again  to  Sy- 
racuse, Peterboro',  Boston,  Worcester,  Fall  River,  Providence,  New  York 
City— Returns  to  Burlington— Vists  Albany,  N.  Y.,  Pittsfield,  Mass.,  New 
Haven,  Ct.,  Hartford,  Middletown,  New  London,  Northampton,  Mass.,  Sy- 
racuse, Buffalo,  Toronto,  C.  W.,  Camillus,  N.  Y. — Returns  to  Burlington — 
Money  placed  in  the  the  Hands  of  Mr.  Hallowell,  of  Philadelphia— Agent 
sent  to  Alabama  to  purchase  the  Family  -  ....  313 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

EXPERIENCE   OF   THE    RETURNED    FUGITIVES. 

The  Return  of  the  Fugitives  to  the  Pillaged  Cabin— Punishment— Vina  and 
Catharine  Separated— The  Barbacue— Young  Peter's  Marriage— Susanna's 
First  Baby— Advent  of  llttls  Peter— Susanna's  failing  Health— Her  Death  339 


XVI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

"  THEY  TAKE  GOOD  CARE  OP  THEIR  PROPERTY." 

The  Runaways  Questioned  Concerning  the  Route  to  the  North— Vina's  Lecture 
to  her  Master — Sale  of  the  Produce  of  the  Patches— Christmas  Ride  to 
Town— "Craps"  at  a  Discount — Vina  Invited  Home  from  the  Island — 
Delphia— Leah  -  349 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

ff    THE    RE-UNION. 

Vina  Returns  to  the  Island — Glad  Tidings— Killing  Hogs— McKIernan  comes  to 
the  Island— The  Ransomed  Family  leave  the  Plantation— Business  Arrange- 
ments with  the  Master— Young  Peter  inquires  the  Price  of  his  Baby— Diffi- 
culties in  transporting  Property  in  a  Northerly  Direction— The  Family  Re- 
united—Hospitality of  the  Citizens  of  Cincinnati— Visit  at  Pittsburg— Arri- 
val of  the  Family  at  Burlington,  their  future  Home — Visit  to  Peter's  aged 
Mother— Marriage  Certificate 362 


INTRODUCTION. 


WITHIN  the  last  four  years,  many  hundreds,  proba- 
bly thousands,  of  persons  in  our  nominally /ree  States, 
have  seen  Peter  Still,  a  neat,  staid  black  man,  going 
from  city  to  city,  town  to  town,  house  to  house,  asking 
assistance  to  enable  him  to  purchase  the  freedom  of  his 
wife  and  children.  He  has  always  been  grateful  for  the 
smallest  favors,  and  never  morose  when  utterly  denied. 
He  has  not  obtruded  himself  or  his  story ;  but  those 
who  have  shown  curiosity  enough  to  make  any  in- 
quiries, have  been  soon  led  to  suspect  that  he  was  no 
common  man ;  that  the  events  of  his  life  had  been 
thrillingly  interesting — some  of  them  even  more  won- 
derful than  we  often  meet  with  in  works  of  fiction. 
Kidnapped,  in  his  early  childhood,  from  the  door-step 

[xvii] 


XVlii  INTRODUCTION. 

of  his  home  in  New  Jersey ;  more  than  forty  years  a 
slave  in  Kentucky  and  Alabama ;  his  unsuccessful  ap- 
peal to  the  great  Henry  Clay ;  his  liberation  through 
the  generosity  of  a  Jew  ;  his  restoration  to  his  mother 
by  the  guidance  of  the  slightest  threads  of  memory  ; 
the  yearning  of  his  heart  for  his  loved  ones;  the 
heroic  but  disastrous  attempt  of  Concklin  to  bring  his 
wife  and  children  to  him — wherever  these  incidents 
of  his  life  were  detailed,  they  seldom  failed  to  draw 
from  the  hand  of  the  listener  some  contribution  to- 
wards the  exorbitant  sum  demanded  for  the  liberation 
of  his  family. 

Words  of  discouragement,  even  from  his  warmest 
friends,  fell  without  weight  on  the  heart  of  Peter  Still. 
Arguments,  sometimes  urged  against  the  propriety  of 
paying,  especially  an  exorbitant  price,  for  liberty, 
were  parried  by  him  with  a  skill  not  to  be  acquired  in 
"The  Schools."  His  soul  was  intent  upon  a  great 
purpose.  He  could  not  be  withheld ;  he  could  not  be 
turned  aside.  His  perseverance,  his  patience,  his  ex- 
actness, his  tact,  everywhere  attracted  attention,  and 
often  commanded  respect.  In  less  than  three  years, 
his  wife  and  children  were  restored  to  him ;  and,  after 
a  few  weeks  spent  in  seeing  and  being  seen  by  friends 
and  relatives,  they  all  settled  themselves  in  employ- 


INTKODUCTION. 

ments,  by  which  they  are  earning  comfortable  liveli- 
hoods, and  laying  the  foundation  of  future  indepen- 
dence. 

It  was  thought,  by  most  of  those  who  had  heard  the 
histories  of  Peter  Still  and  Seth  Concklin,  that  such 
histories  ought  not  to  remain  unwritten  or  unpublished. 
It  was  believed  that  good  narratives  of  both  of  these 
remarkable  men,  would  give  to  the  people  of  the 
Northern  States  some  new  illustrations  of  the  horrors 
of  that  "peculiar  institution,"  which  has  well-nigh 
subjugated  to  itself  our  entire  Kepublic. 

It  so  happened  that  a  lady  was  at  hand,  singularly 
qualified  for  the  former  and  larger  part  of  the  task, 
not  only  by  her  ability  as  a  writer,  but  by  her  per- 
sonal acquaintance  with  Peter  Still,  while  he  was  in 
bondage.  Mrs.  Pickard  had  lived  several  years  in  the 
very  town,  or  neighborhood,  where  most  of  the  events 
transpired  that  would  come  into  the  narrative.  She 
knew  personally  many  of  the  individuals,  who  had 
acted  conspicuous  parts  in  the  tragedy  she  was  called 
upon  to-  write.  Moreover,  she  had  conceived  a  very 
just  appreciation  of  the  character  of  this  man  and 
woman,  who,  under  the  laws  of  our  country,  had  been 
subjected  to  all  that  domestic  servitude  can  do  to 
imbrute  human  beings,  and  yet  retained  so  much  that 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

is  distinctive  of  the  best  specimens  of  our  race.  She 
was  therefore  persuaded  to  undertake  the  work,  which 
is  now  given  to  the  public. 

The  writer  of  this  narrative  was  a  highly  esteemed 
teacher  in  the  Female  Seminary  of  Tuscumbia,  Ala- 
bama. There  Peter  Still  was  employed  in  several 
menial  offices,  and  was  subject  to  her  observation 
every  day  for  many  months.  She  often  admired  his 
untiring  diligence,  his  cheerful  patience,  his  eagerness 
to  get  work  rather  than  to  avoid  it,  and  his  earnest 
gratefulness  for  the  perquisites  that  were  frequently 
bestowed  upon  him  by  the  many,  whom,  he  served  in 
various  ways,  and  served  so  well.  Little  did  she  suspect 
what  was  the  mainspring  of  the  intense  life  that  she  wit- 
nessed in  the  poor  slave-man,  who  seemed  to  her  to  have 
so  little  to  live  for.  She  did  not  know  that  (as  he  has 
since  told  her)  he  was"  hungering  and  thirsting  after  lib- 
erty," which  had  been  promised  him  by  a  compassion- 
ate Jew,  who  then  owned  him,  for  a  sum  that  it  seemed 
possible  for  him  to  accumulate.  It  was  that  hunger  and 
thirst  which  filled  "  Uncle  Peter"  with  all  the  graces, 
and  brought  him  all  the  gifts,  that  he  needed  to  attain 
the  object  of  his  heart's  desire.  He  had  long  been 
known,  and  universally  respected  and  loved,  in  the 
town  where  he  lived.  Everybody  believed  that  what 


INTRODUCTION.  XXI 

Uncle  Peter  said  was  true ;  and  that  every  duty  im- 
posed upon  him  would  be  faithfully  discharged.  But 
the  amount  of  labor  that  he  was  then  accustomed  to 
perform  had  come  to  be  a  matter  of  frequent  remark 
and  admiration.  Some  attributed  his  severe  toil  to 
the  requirements  of  his  Jew  master.  They  had  yet  to 
learn,  that  there  is  a  harder  driver  than  any  Jewish  or 
Christian  slaveholder,  even  the  man's  own  spirit,  when 
the  priceless  boon  of  liberty  is  set  before  him,  as  an 
incitement  to  exertion. 

We  can  promise  the  lovers  of  exciting  adventure 
very  much  in  the  ensuing  volume  to  gratify  their 
taste ;  and  all  those  who  really  desire  to  fathom  the 
heights  and  depths  of  that  Iniquity  which  is  threaten- 
ing the  destruction  of  our  Eepublic,  may  turn  to  these 
pages,  in  the  assurance  that  they  will  find  in  them  a 
great  amount  and  variety  of  information,  derived  from 
the  most  authentic  sources,  and  given  with  the  strictest 
regard  to  truth. 

In  this  narrative  will  also  be  found,  incidentally, 
but  very  clearly  given,  intimations  of  many  excel- 
lences that  are  latent,  as  well  as  lively  sketches  of  some 
that  are  patent,  in  the  negro  variety  of  our  race — in- 
deed, all  the  qualities  of  our  common,  and  of  our 
uncommon  humanity — persistence  in  the  pursuit  of  a 


INTRODUCTION. 

desired  object ;  ingenuity  in  the  device  of  plans  for  its 
attainment ;  self-possession  and  self-command  that  can 
long  keep  a  cherished  purpose  unrevealed;  a  deep, 
instinctive  faith  in  God;  a  patience  under  hardship 
and  hope  deferred,  which  never  dies ;  and,  withal,  a 
joyousness  which,  like  a  life-preserver,  bears  one  above 
the  dark  waves  of  unparalleled  trouble 

The  latter  and  smaller  portion  of  this  volume — the 
Sketch  of  the  Life  of  Seth  Concklin — was  written  by 
a  gentleman  who  has  long  held  so  high  a  place  among 
American  authors,  that  we  shall  not  presume  to  give 
him  our  commendation.  That'  Dr.  "Wm.  H.  Furness, 
of  Philadelphia,  deemed  the  merits  of  Seth  Concklin  to 
be  such  as  to  deserve  a  tribute  from  his  pen,  must  be 
a  sufficient  assurance  that  the"  subject  of  this  sketch 
had  evinced  traits  of  character,  and  done  deeds,  or  en- 
dured trials,  worthy  of  commemoration.  Those  who 
know  that  Dr.  Furness  never  touches  anything  that  he 
does  not  adorn,  will  go  to  the  perusal  of  his  portion  of 
this  book,  in  the  confident  expectation  of  being  de- 
lighted with  the  unaffected  beauty  of  the  sketch,  and 
of  having  their  sympathies  and  better  feelings  made 
to  flow  in  unison  with  those  of  the  true-hearted  author. 
They  will  close  the  volume  with  gratitude  to  Dr.  F., 
for  having  rescued  from  oblivion,  and  placed  before 


INTRODUCTION.  XX1U 

his  countrymen,  another  well-authenticated  example 
of  successful  conflict  with  appalling  difficulties  in  early- 
life  ;  of  unwavering  fidelity  to  right  principles,  in  the 
midst  of  great  temptations ;  and  of  heroic,  disinterested 
self-sacrifice  in  the  cause  of  suffering  humanity. 

SAMUEL  J.  MAY. 

SYBACUSE,  Feb.  14, 1856. 


THE 

KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED, 


CHAPTER    I. 
THE     KIDNAPPER. 

LATE  in  the  afternoon  of  a  pleasant  summer  day, 
two  little  boys  were  playing  before  the  door  of  their 
mother's  cottage.  They  were  apparently  about  six  or 
eight  years  old,  and  though  their  faces  wore  a  dusky 
hue,  their  hearts  were  gay,  and  their  laugh  rang  out 
clear  and  free. 

Their  dress  was  coarse,  and  in  no  wise  restrained  the 
motions  of  their  agile  limbs,  for  it  consisted  merely  of 
a  cotton  shirt,  reaching  no  lower  than  the  knee. 

How  they  ran  races  down  the  road,  and  turned  sum- 
mersets on  the  green  grass !  How  their  eyes  danced 
with  merriment,  and  their  white  teeth  glistened  in  the 
pleasant  light ! 

But  as  the  day  wore  on  they  grew  weary,  and  with 
childhood's  first  impulse,  sought  their  mother.  She 
was  not  in  the  house.  All  there  was  still  and  lonely. 
In  one  corner  stood  her  bed,  covered  with  a  clean 
blanket,  and  the  baby's  cradle  was  empty  by  its  side. 
Grandmother's  bed,  in  another  corner  of  the  room, 
was  made  up  nicely,  and  every  article  of  the  simple 
furniture  was  in  its  accustomed  place.  Where  could 
they  all  have  gone  ? 

"I  reckon,"  said  Levin,  "mammy's  gone  to  church. 

2  (25) 


26  THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

The  preachin'  must  be  mighty  ]ong !  0 !  I's  so  hongrj  1 
I's  gwine  to  meetin'  to  see  if  she's  thar." 

The  "  church"  stood  in  the  woods,  about  a  mile  off. 
It  was  an  old  white  building  that  had  formerly  been 
occupied  by  the  family  of  S.  G.,  who  now  lived  in  a 
large  brick  house  close  by.  The  boys  had  often  been 
at  the  church  with  their  father,  who  kept  the  key  of 
the  building,  and  opened  it  for  worship  on  Sundays, 
and  prayer-meeting  nights. 

"  You  better  not  go  thar,  I  reckon,"  replied  Peter, 
the  younger  of  the  two  boys,  "  Mammy  '11  whip  you 
well  if  you  goes  to  foller  her  to  meetin',  and  all  about." 

'"  Mammy !  0  Mammy  1" 

Thus  they  called  their  mother,  and  cried  because 
she  did  not  answer,  till  their  eyes  were  swollen,  and 
their  pleasant  play  forgotten. 

Soon  the  sound  of  wheels  diverted  them  for  a  mo- 
ment from  their  childish  grief,  and  looking  up  the 
road,  they  saw  a  handsome  gig  approaching.  Its  only 
occupant  was  a  tall  dark  man,  with  black  and  glossy 
hair,  which  fell  heavily  below  his  white  hat. 

He  looked  earnestly  at  the  little  boys  as  he  ap- 
proached, and  marking  their  evident  distress,  he 
checked  his  horse,  and  kindly  asked  the  cause  of  their 
sorrow. 

"Oh!  Mammy's  done  gone  off,  and  there's  nobody 
to  give  us  our  supper,  and  we're  so  hongry." 

"  Where  is  your  mother?"* 

"Don't  know,  sir,"  replied  Levin,  "but  I  reckon 
she's  gone  to  church," 

"Well,  don't  you  want  to  ride?  Jump  up  here 
with  me,  and  I'll  take  you  to  your  mother.  I'm  just 
going  to  church.  Come !  quick !  What !  no  clothes 


THE   KIDNAPPER.  27 

but  a  shirt?  Go  in  and  get  a  blanket.  It  will  be 
night  soon,  and  you  will  be  cold." 

Away  they  both  ran  for  a  blanket.  Levin  seized 
one  from  his  mother's  bed,  and  in  his  haste  pushed  the 
door  against  his  brother,  who  was  robbing1  his  grand- 
mother's couch  of  its  covering. 

The  blanket  was  large,  and  little  Peter,  crying  all 
the  while,  was  repeatedly  tripped  by  its  falling  under 
his  feet  while  he  was  running  to  the  gig. 

The  stranger  lifted  them  up,  and  placing  them  be- 
tween his  feet,  covered  them  carefully  with  the  blankets, 
that  they  might  not  be  cold.  He  spoke  kindly  to  them, 
meanwhile,  still  assuring  them  that  he  would  soon  take 
them  to  their  mother. 

Away  they  went  very  swiftly,  rejoicing  in  their 
childish  hearts  to  think  how  their  mother  would  won- 
der when  she  should  see  them  coming. 

After  riding  for  some  time, — how  long  they  could 
not  guess — they  suddenly  upset  in  the  water  with  a 
great  splash.  The  strange  man  had,  in  his  haste,  driven 
too  near  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  the  slight  vehicle 
had  thus  been  overturned.  He  soon  rescued  the  chil- 
dren from  the  water.  They  were  much  frightened, 
but  nothing  was  injured  by  the  accident,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  they  were  once  more  covered  with  the  blankets, 
and  flying  along  the  river  bank  faster  even  than  before. 

"When  the  gig  stopped  again,  the  sun  was  just  set- 
ting. They  were  at  the  water  side,  and  before  them 
lay  many  boats,  and  vessels  of  different  kinds.  They 
had  never  seen  anything  like,  these  before,  but  they 
had  short  time  to  gratify  their  childish  curiosity ;  for 
they  were  hurried  on  board  a  boat,  which  left  the  shore 
immediately. 


28  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EANSOilED. 

With  the  assurance  that  they  should  now  find  their 
mother,  they  trusted  implicitly  in  their  new-made 
friend ;  who  strengthened  their  confidence  in  himself 
by  gentle  words  and  timely  gifts.  Cakes  of  marvellous 
sweetness  were  ever  ready  for  them,  if  they  grew  im- 
patient of  the  length  of  the  journey ;  and  their  child- 
ish hearts  could  know  no  distrust  of  one  whose  words 
and  acts  were  kind. 

How  long  they  were  on  the  boat  they  did  not  know ; 
nor  by  what  other  means  they  travelled  could  they 
afterwards  remember,  until  they  reached  Versailles, 
Kentucky.  Here  their  self-constituted  guardian,  whom 
they  now  heard  addressed  as  Kincaid,  placed  them  in  a 
wagon  with  a  colored  woman  and  her  child,  and  con- 
veyed them  to  Lexington. 

This  was  the  first  town  they  had  ever  seen,  and  as 
they  were  conducted  up  Main  street,  they  were  filled 
with  wonder  and  admiration. 

Kincaid  took  them  to  a  plain  brick  house  where 
dwelt  one  John  Fisher,  a  mason  by  trade,  and  proprie- 
tor of  a  large  brick  yard. 

After  some  conversation  between  the  gentlemen, 
which  of  course  the  children  did  not  understand, 
they  were  taken  out  to  the  kitchen,  and  presented  to 
Aunt  Betty,  the  cook. 

"There,  my  boys,"  said  Kincaid,  "there  is  your 
mother — we've  found  her  at  last." 

"No!  no!"  they  shrieked,  "that's  not  our  mother! 
O,  please,  sir !  take  us  back !"  With  tears  and  cries 
they  clung  to  him  who  had  abused  their  guileless 
trust,  and  begged  him  not  to  leave  them  there. 

This  scene  was  soon  ended  by  John  Fisher  himself, 
who,  with  a  hearty  blow  on  each  cheek,  bade  them 


THE   KIDNAPPER.  29 

"hush !"  u  You  belong  to  me  now,  you  little  rascals, 
and  I'll  have  no  more  of  this.  There's  Aunt  Betty, 
she's  your  mammy  now;  and  if  you  behave  your- 
selves, she'll  be  good  to  you." 

Kincaid  soon  departed,  and  they  never  saw  him 
again.  They  learned,  however,  from  a  white  appren- 
tice, who  lived  in  the  house,  that  he  received  from  Mr. 
Fisher  one  hundred  and  fifty-five  dollars  for  Levin, 
and  one  hundred  and  fifty  for  Peter. 

Poor  children !  what  a  heavy  cloud  now  shadowed 
their  young  lives ! 

For  the  first  few  weeks  they  talked  constantly  of 
going  back  to  their-  mother — except  when  their  master 
was  near.  They  soon  learned  that  they  must  not 
mention  the  subject  in  his  presence. 

He  was,  in  the  main,  a  kind,  indulgent  man — but 
were  they  not  his  money?  Why  should  he  allow 
them  to  prate  about  being  stolen,  when  he  had  bought' 
them,  and  paid  a  right  good  price  ? 

"Father,"  said  John  Fisher,  junior,  "isn't  Phila- 
delphia in  a  free  State  ?" 

"  Certainly — it  is  in  Pennsylvania." 

"  "Well,  then,  I  reckon  those  two  boys  you  bought 
were  stolen,  for  they  lived  with  their  mother  near  the 
Delaware  river ;  and  Aunt  Betty  says  that  is  at  Phila- 
delphia. It  was  too  bad,  father,  for  that  man  to  steal 
them  and  sell  them  here,  where  they  can  never  hear 
from  their  mother!" 

"Pooh,  boy!  don't  talk  like  a  fool!  Most  likely 
they  were  sold  to  Kincaid,  and  he  told  them  he  would 
take  them  to  their  mother,  in  order  to  get  them  away 
without  any  fuss.  And  even  if  he  did  steal  them — so 
were  all  the  negroes  stolen  at  first.  I  bought  these 


30  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

boys,  and  paid  for  them,  and  I'll  stop  their  talk  about 
being  free,  or  I'll  break  their  black  necks.  A  pretty 
tale  that,  to  go  about  the  country — just  to  spoil  the 
sale  if  I  should  happen  to  wish  to  get  shut  of  them ! 
Free,  indeed !  And  what  is  a  free  nigger  ?  They're 
better  off  here  than  if  they  were  free,  growing  up  in 
idleness,  and  with  nobody  to  take  care  of  them." 

Before  night  the  young  offenders  were  thoroughly 
kicked  and  beaten,  and  received  the  assurance  that 
they  should  be  killed  outright  if  they  dared  to  tell 
such  a  tale  again.  So  they  grew  cautious ;  and  spoke 
those  sweet  memories  of  home  and  mother  only  in 
whispers  to  each  other,  or  to  some  fellow-slave  that 
knew  how  to  sympathize  with  their  sorrows. 


CHAPTER     II. 
EARLY   EXPERIENCE   IN   SLAVERY. 

THE  long,  hard  lesson  of  slavery  was  now  fairly 
open  before  our  young  students.  In  vain  they  shrank 
from  its  dreadful  details.  In  vain  they  appealed  for 
pity  to  their  hard-handed  master.  Page  after  page  of 
dark  experiences  shadowed  their  boyish  eyes,  and  their 
young  hearts,  so  merry  hitherto,  grew  sad  and  anxious. 

The  necessity  of  concealing  the  true  feelings  is 
among  the  rudiments  of  slavery's  lore.  A  servant 
should  be  merry.  A  gloomy  face  is  a  perpetual  com- 
plaint, and  why  should  it  be  tolerated  ? 

To  this  necessity  the  temperament  of  the  African  is 
most  happily  suited.  Cheerful  and  warm-hearted,  with 
an  innate  love  of  light  and  harmony,  the  slightest  sym- 
pathy awakens  his  affection,  and  the  faintest  dawn  of 
happiness  provokes  a  smile. 

Levin  and  Peter  were  not  long  in  divining,  with  the 
tact  of  childhood,  their  exact  position,  domestic  and 
social. 

Then-  master  was  a  large,  fine  looking  man,  with  a 
free,  hearty  manner,  and  much  real  kindliness  of  dis- 
position. He  never  allowed  this  latter  quality,  how- 
ever, to  interfere  in  business  matters ;  and  as,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  business  of  brickmaking,  he  rented  a  large 
plantation  about  a  mile  out  of  town,  he  had  no  time 
to  waste  in  unprofitable  sentimentalities.  How  to  get 

(81) 


32  THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

the  most  work  done  with  the  least  expense  he  regarded 
as  a  problem  worthy  of  his  attention,  and  his  success 
in  business  proved  that  he  considered  it  well. 

Mrs.  Fisher  was  a  stout,  freckle-faced  lady,  plain 
and  unpretending  in  her  dress  and  manner,  and  per- 
fectly devoted  to  her  husband  and  children.  She  had, 
at  the  time  of  which  we  speak,  two  boys,  John  and 
Sydney;  and  for  the  first  three  years  that  he  lived 
with  them,  Peter  was  their  constant  playmate.  Levin 
was  sent  to  the  brick-yard  the  second  year  after  Fisher 
purchased  them,  he  being  at  that  time  only  nine  years 
old. 

At  night  the  little  slave  boys  rolled  themselves  up 
in  their  blankets,  and  slept  on  the  floor  in  their  mis- 
tress' room.  They  often  waked  in  the  morning  under 
the  bed,  or  the  bureau,  where  Mrs.  Fisher  had  shoved 
them  with  her  foot,  the  night  previous — that  they 
might  be  out  of  the  way.  They  were  comfortably 
clothed,  well  fed,  and — if  they  said  nothing  of  their 
mother's  house  on  the  Delaware  river — kindly  treated. 
But  if  a  word  on  that  forbidden  subject  reached  their 
master's  ear,  he  became  a  monster.  By  stripes  and 
kicks  he  taught  them  that  they  had  no  right  to  that 
blessed  memory,  that  they  were  his  property,  and  that 
he  possessed  the  power  to  quiet  their  restless  tongues. 

The  plantation  which  was  rented  by  Mr.  Fisher  be- 
longed to  Mrs.  Eusf  ell,  a  widow  lady,  and  lay  about  a 
mile  from  the -city,  across  the  road  from  the  residence 
of  Henry  Clay.  Here,  while  Peter  was  too  young  to 
work  in  the  brick-yard,  he  was  sent  daily  for  the  cows, 
and  for  vegetables  from  the  garden ;  and  as  he  had 
plenty  of  leisure,  he  spent  many  happy  hours  in  play- 
ing with  the  little  colored  children  at  Mr.  Clay's. 


EAELY  EXPERIENCE  IN  SLAVERY.  33 

m 

Frequently  the  merry  group  was  joined  by  young 
Masters  Theodore  and  Thomas  Clay,  and  then  the 
sport  was  liveliest. 

The  heart  of  the  little  new-made  slave  glowed  with 
love  for  these  noble  boys,  and  he  soon  confided  to 
them  his  sad  history ;  and  one  day,  when  Mrs.  Clay, 
as  was  her  custom,  spoke  kindly  to  the  dusky  playmate 
of  her  sons,  he  simply  recited  to  her  the  story  of  his 
sorrows,  and  asked  her  if  she  did  not  think  some  one 
would  send  him  back  to  his  mother. 

She  quieted  him  with  cakes  and  other  delicacies,  to 
the  palate  of  the  child  exceeding  grateful,  and  then 
gently  dismissed  the  children  to  their  play. 

But  the  brave-hearted  boys  were  young  enough  to 
long  to  do  something  for  their  little  favorite,  and  bade 
him  tell  his  story  to  their  father,  who,  they  assured 
him,  would  send  him  back.  There  was  true  Kentucky 
generosity  in  their  breasts,  and  they  felt  sure  their 
honored  father  could  not  fail  to  do  his  utmost  to  redress 
such  a  cruel  wrong. 

"  0  Levin  1"  whispered  Peter,  the  first  time  he  was 
alone  with  his  brother.  "I  reckon  we'll  go  back  to- 
reckly!" 

"Go  back!  whar?" 

"Why  home,  to  see  mother!  Mass'  Theodore  Clay 
say,  his  father  so  good  to  everybody,  he  know  he'll 
send  us  back  if  we  tell  him  how  %e  got  stole — says 
his  father  allers  hope  folks  whar  gits  in  trouble." 

"  Mass'  Theodore  say  so  ?  Reckon  then  we  will, 
kase  Mr.  Clay  mighty  good  to  all  his  people.  Hi! 
Mars  John  Fisher !  you's  gwine  lose  these  chillerns !" 

And  with  comical  grimaces,  Levin  cut  a  series  of 

2* 


34r  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

shuffles,  indicating  the  confusion  that  awaited  "  Mars 
John." 

Not  long  after  this  conversation,  Peter  saw  Mr.  Clay 
standing  near  the  court-house  with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 
His  little  heart  bounded  with  hope  as  he  ran  towards 
him. 

"  0  Mr.  Clay  I"  he  exclaimed,  "I'm  stole!" 

"  Stole  ?  Who  stole  you,  and  where  were  you  stolen 
from?" 

"  I's  stolen  from  my  father  and  mother  on  Delaware 
river — folks  say  that's  Philadelphia — but  I  don'  know. 
Please,  sir,  won't  you  send  me  back  to  my  mother?" 

"  To  whom  do  you  belong?" 

"I  'long  to  Mars  John  Fisher,  on  Main  street,  and  I 
wants  to  go  back  to  my  mother." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  I  have  no  time  to  talk  to  you  now ; 
you  carry  this  letter  to  Major  Pope — you  know  where 
he  lives — and  then  come  back  and  I'll  attend  to  you." 

Away  ran  the  child  dancing  with  delight,  and  cry- 
ing, " I's  free !  I's  free !  I's  gwine  to  my  mother!" 

"What  is  that  you  say?"  asked  a  gentleman  who 
met  him.  "  I's  gwine  to  be  free !  Mr.  Clay  gwine  to 
send  me  back  to  my  mother,  kase  I  was  stole  away 
from  her !" 

"  Now  look  here,  ypu  little  negro,"  said  the  man, 
who  knew  the  childj  and  understood  the  temper  of  his 
master,  "  you'd  better  not  talk  about  that  to  Mr.  Clay, 
for  he  will  tell  your  master,  and  then  old  John  Fisher 
will  be  sure  to  skin  you." 

The  bright  vision  that  Hope  had  held  before  the 
trusting  boy  faded  away.  With  drooping  head  and 
tearful  eye  he  returned  to  tell  his  brother  of  their  dis- 


EARLY   EXPERIENCE   IN   SLAVERY.  35 

appointment,  and  after  that  they  both  avoided  Mr. 
Clay. 

Yet  Hope  did  not  desert  them ;  but  whispered  often 
in  their  eager  ears — "  You  shall  return ;  your  friends 
will  come  to  seek  you.  You  were  born  free,  and  slaves 
you  shall  not  die !" 

When  Peter  was  about  nine  years  old,  he  too  was 
employed  in  the  brick-yard,  as  "off-bearer"  Three 
thousand  brick  a  day  was  the  task  for  two  boys ;  and 
if  one  of  them  chanced  to  be  by  any  means  disabled, 
his  companion  must  "  off-bear"  the  whole.  The  moulder 
must  not  be  hindered. 

These  moulders — slaves  themselves — were  cruel 
tyrants.  The  boys,  though  seldom  abused  by  the 
master  himself,  were  subject  to  all  their  caprices  and 
passions.  If  one  of  inferior  station  failed  to  perform 
his  task,  they  knew  no  mercy  ;  and  their  master  per- 
mitted any  punishment  they  chose  to  inflict. 

Their  favorite  mode  of  chastisement  was  called 
" standing  in  Hie  wheelbarrow"  The  offender  was 
placed  with  a  foot  on  each  side  of  the  wheel,  and  com- 
pelled to  reach  over  and  grasp  a  handle  in  each  hand ; 
and  then  the  youngest  boys — the  "  off-bearers1' '-—were 
compelled  to  whip  him  with  cowhides.  If  he  would 
lie  still,  and  take  twenty -four  lashes  without  attempt- 
ing to  rise,  that  was  deemed  sufficient  proof  of  his 
humility.  But  if  he  made  an  effort  to  change  his 
position  before  that  number  was  inflicted,  the  moulder 
who  presided  over  the  ceremony,  and  who  counted 
off  the  strokes,  commenced  again  at  "  one"  and  caused 
the  twenty-four  to  be  repeated. 

One  day  a  large  man,  named  Charles,  was  put  into 
the  wheelbarrow,  and  received  over  three  hundred 


36     THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  KANSOMED. 

blows  before  he  was  sufficiently  subdued  to  lie  still, 
and  take  twenty -four  without  moving.  The  boys  that 
were  selected  to  inflict  this  horrible  punishment  (of 
whom  Peter  was  one)  were  all  trembling  with  terror ; 
but  if  one  of  them,  through  pity,  failed  to  strike  with 
his  utmost  strength,  the  moulder,  who  stood  aside 
with  a  cowhide,  punished  his  merciful  folly  by  a  vio- 
lent blow  upon  his  own  back. 

Amid  such  scenes  passed  the  childhood  of  these 
hapless  boys.  Their  natural  cheerfulness  and  mild- 
ness of  temper  made  them  universal  favorites.  In 
their  own  person,  therefore,  they  endured  few  such 
sufferings  as  they  were  forced  to  witness.  A  "Boston 
clergyman,"  carefully  observing  their  every-day  life, 
would  have  pronounced  them  happy,  careless  boys ; 
so  ardently  attached  to  their  young  masters  and  their 
fellow  servants,  that  it  would  be  really  unkind  to  set 
them  free.  They  were  well  fed — their  clothes  were 
comfortable — all  they  needed  was  supplied  without 
their  thought  or  care. 


CHAPTEK      ^ 
MASTER  NATTIE. 

WHEN  Peter  was  about  thirteen  years  old,  Mr. 
Fisher  planned  a  removal  to  Cincinnati,  where  his 
brother  had  recently  gone.  He  disposed  of  his  brick- 
yard, and  intended  to  sell  all  his  servants,  except 
Aunt  Betty,  the  cook,  with  her  daughter  and  grand- 
child. These  he  could  not  spare,  as  they  were  indis- 
pensable to  the  comfort  of  the  family. 

Levin  and  Peter  were  overwhelmed  with  grief  at 
the  news  of  the  intended  sale.  There  was  degrada- 
tion in  the  thought  of  being  trafficked  for  like  horses  ; 
for,  with  all  their  apparent  humility,  and  their  submis- 
sive, gentle  manners,  there  was  a  principle  deep  in 
their  hearts  that  claimed  the  birthright  of  humanity. 

Besides,  they  had,  through  all  these  years,  cherished 
the  hope  that  they  should  yet  be  sought  by  their 
parents ;  and  they  knew  that  if  they  changed  owners, 
the  chances  of  their  being  discovered  would  be  les- 
sened. 

But  their  destiny  was  fixed.  Mr.  Fisher  found 
some  difficulty  in  disposing  of  them,  for  their  old  story 
of  being  stolen  was  remembered,  and  men  hesitated  to 
buy  where  there  was  a  shadow  of  uncertainty  in  the 
title.  Their  master,  however,  so  confidently  asserted 

that  he  had  conquered  them,  and  it  was  so  many  years 

tsn 


38  THE    KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

since  they  had  been  heard  to  say  anything  on  the  sub- 
ject, that  a  sale  was  at  last  effected. 

The  purchaser  was  Mr.  Nat.  Gist,  of  Lexington,  and 
he  paid  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  each  of  the 
brothers. 

Mr.  Fisher  did  not,  as  he  had  anticipated,  go  to  Cin- 
cinnati, but  remained  in  Lexington  for  several  years, 
and  then  he  removed  with  his  family  to  Louisville, 

Ky. 

The  change  of  owners  was  far  from  being  an  agree- 
•  able  one  to  Levin  and  Peter.  Nat.  Gist,  their  new 
master,  lived  in  a  small  brick  house  on  Dutch  street, 
or,  as  it  was  sometimes  called,  Hill  street.  He  was 
a  short,  stout,  gray-headed  man,  about  fifty-six  years 
of  age,  a  Virginian  by  birth,  and  had.  been  a  revolu- 
tionary soldier.  He  swore  hard,  and  drank  to  intoxica- 
tion every  day  ;  therefore,  as  he  was  a  bachelor,  his 
home  was  seldom  visited  by  any  humanizing  influ- 
ence. 

He  owned  a  brick-yard  of  about  five  acres,  and 
had,  in  all,  twenty  slaves.  These  he  fed  sparingly, 
clothed  scantily,  and  worked  hard.  In  the  winter, 
when  they  could  not  make  brick,  he  was  accustomed 
to  hire  them  out  wherever  he  could  get  the  highest 
price  for  their  services. 

Mr.  Gist  had  now  among  his  people  four  boys — 
Levin  and  Peter,  with  Alfred  and  Allison,  who  were 
also  brothers.  They  had  been  brought  from  Virginia, 
where  their  parents  still  remained.* 

*  The  mother  of  these  two  boys,  who  belonged  to  one  George 
Lewis,  in  Virginia,  has  recently,  with  several  of  her  other  children, 
escaped  from  slavery,  and  travelled,  by  the  "  underground  rail- 
road," to  Canada. 


MASTER  NATTIE.  39 

Peter  was  not  long  in  becoming  a  special  favorite 
with  his  new  master.  Yet  the  strange  old  man  never 
evinced  his  preference  by  any  peculiar  kindness  of 
word  or  act.  That  would  contradict  his  theory.  He 
believed  there  was  nothing  so  good  for  a  nigger  as  fre- 
quent floggings ;  and  while  he  kept  Peter  near  him 
as  much  as  possible,  and  always  chose  him  to  wait 
upon  him,  he  never  abated  towards  him  a  jot  of  his 
accustomed  severity.  An  incident  that  occurred  soon 
after  he  purchased  the  two  boys  of  Mr.  Fisher,  will 
illustrate  his  method  of  governing  them. 

He  had  come  home  from  town,  as  usual,  much  in- 
toxicated, and  ordered  Peter  to  scatter  a  couple  of 
bundles  of  oats  on  the  ground,  for  his  horse.  The  • 
boy  obeyed,  but  strewed  them  over  rather  more  space 
than  was  necessary.  In  a  few  minutes,  his  master  ap- 
peared. 

"  Did  you  feed  ISTed  his  oats?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  I'll  see  if  you  have  done  it  right."  And,  mutter- 
ing curses  as  he  went,  he  proceeded  to  the  yard,  where 
the  horse  was  eating. 

"What  the  d — 1  did  you  throw  them  all  about  for?" 

"  Why,  mass'r,  you  told  me  to  scatter  'em." 

Quick  the  old  man's  cane  descended  on  the  offend- 
er's head.  "I  did'nt  tell  you  to  scatter  them  all  over 
the  yard.  Follow  me  to  the  house.  I'll  give  you  a 
lesson." 

Peter  walked  slowly  behind  him  to  the  door. 

"Now  take  off  your  shirt,  you  rascal,  and  cross 
your  hands." 

The  boy  obeyed;  and  his  master,  after  tying  his 
hands  together,  drew  them  down  over  his  knees,  where 


40  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   BANSOMED. 

lie  confined  them  by  means  of  a  stick  thrust  under  his 
knees.  He  then  beat  him  with  a  cowhide,  first  on  one 
side,  and  then  on  the  other,  till  his  drunken  rage  was 
appeased.  "There,  you  black  cuss"  cried  he,  when 
he  had  finished,  "  I  mean  to  make  a  good  nigger  of 
you,  and  there's  no  way  to  do  it,  only  by  showing  you 
who's  master." 

This  method  of  confining  a  negro  for  punishment  is 
called  "lucking"  him,  and  it  is  much  practised  in 
slave-land.  The  culprit  is  frequently  left  in  the 
"  luck"  several  hours — sometimes,  indeed,  all  night — 
and,  in  such  cases,  the  protracted  straining  of  the 
muscles  causes  intense  pain. 

A  few  benevolent  individuals,  about  this  time,  estab- 
lished a  Sabbath  School  in  Lexington,  for  the  instruc- 
tion of  such  slaves  as  might  be  permitted  by  their 
masters  to  learn. 

At  this  proceeding  Master  ISTattie  was  indignant. 
;  He  would  not  have  his  niggers  spoiled  by  getting 
learning — no,  indeed!  Niggers  were  bad  enough, 
without  being  set  up  by  such  rascals  as  these  Sunday 
School  teachers.  They'd  better  not  meddle  with  his 
property ;  and  if  he  heard  of  One  of  his  boys  going 
near  the  school,  he'd  give  him  such  a  flogging  that 
he'd  never  need  any  more  education. 

But  in  the  breast  of  one  of  these  slave  boys  burned 
a  thirst  for  knowledge  so  intense,  that  even  this  terri- 
ble threat  could  not  deter  him  from  making  one  effort 
to  learn.  Peter  went  to  the  school. 

The  teacher  received  him  kindly,  and  inquired  for 
his  "pass." 

"  Ain't  got  none,  massa." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  the  teacher,  "for  we  are  not  per- 


MASTER  NATTIE.  41 

mitted  to  instruct  any  servants  without  the  consent  of 
their  masters." 

Peter  knew  this  very  well ;  and  he  also  knew  that 
to  ask  his  master  for  a  pass  would  be  only  to  apply 
for  a  whipping ;  but  he  did  so  long  to  learn  to  read, 
he  could  not  go  aw'ay.  He  looked  around  on  the 
pupils.  Their  masters  allowed  them  to  come,  and 
surely  not  one  of  them  could  learn  so  quick  as  he.  He 
determined  to  make  a  desperate  effort  to  stay  that  one 
day,  at  least.  So  he  told  the  teacher  that  his  master 
didn't  care  nothin1  'bout  his  com.in' — he'd  get  a  pass 
next  Sunday ;  and  he  was  permitted  to  remain. 

The  next  Sabbath,  when  the  school  was  opened, 
Peter  stood  among  the  pupils.  The  other  boys  pre- 
sented their  passes — his  did  not  appear.  He  had  for- 
gotten to  ask  his  master,  but  would  be  sure  to  remem- 
ber it  the  next  Sunday. 

But  on  the  third  Sabbath  he  was  no  better  off.  His 
master  had  gone  from  home  early  in  the  morning,  and 
of  course  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  get  a  pass  in  his 
absence.  The  teacher  once  more  allowed  him  to  re- 
main, but  assured  him  that  no  such  excuses  would  be 
taken  in  future. 

The  fourth  Sabbath  came,  and  Peter  walked  boldly 
into  the  school.  "Pass,  boy  !"  as  usual,  was  the  first 
salutation. 

"  Ain't  got  none,^'  replied  he.  "  Mass'  Nattie  say, 
don't  need  none ;  no  use,  no  how." 

The  teacher'began  to  suspect  the  true  state  of  the 
case,  and  though  he  would  gladly  have  aided  to  illu- 
mine that  eager  intellect,  that  was  "  stretching  forward 
to  the  light,"  yet  he  was  forced  to  thrust  it  back  into 
the  darkness,  lest  a  prejudice  should  be  aroused  which 


42  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

would  palsy  all  liis  efforts.  So  lie  positively  forbade 
Peter's  future  entrance  to  the  school  without  a  pass, 
and  he  was  thereafter  obliged  to  seek  for  amusement 
on  Sundays  in  some  other  direction.  He  had,  in  these 
four  Sundays,  learned  the  alphabet,  and  could  spell  a 
few  words,  and  hard  and  bitter  was  the  fate  that  con- 
signed him  thenceforward  to  ignorance. 

"  Oh,"  thought  he,  "if  I  could  only  learn  to  read  ! 
I  could  find  out  the  way  to  write  myself.  Then  I 
might  write  letters  to"  Philadelphia ,  and  let  our  mother 
know  what's  'come  of  her  chilluns.  There's  white  boys 
in  town  that  goes  to  school  every  day,  that  would  a 
heap  ruther  play  in  the  street.  I's  seen  'em  runnin' 
off  to  keep  clar  of  the  mas'r  in  the  mornin'.  Reckon, 
if  I  could  go  to  school,  nobody  wouldn't  cotch  me  run- 
nin' off  that  way.'* 


CHAPTER    IV. 
THK    TOBACCO   FACTORY. 

AFTER  Levin  and  Peter  had  worked  for  four  sum- 
mers in  the  brickyard,  their  master  hired  them,  with 
Alfred  and  Allison,  to  Mr.  George  Norton,  a  tobacco- 
nist, who  at  that  time  carried  on  an  extensive  business 
in  Lexington. 

They  jhad  been  hired  out  before  to  different  persons 
during  the  winter.  Peter  had,  one  winter,  served  as 
waiter,  a  cousin  of  his  master,  Mr.  Sandford  Keene. 
This  was  his  first  introduction  to  house  service,  as  well 
as  his  first  experience,  since  he  became  a  slave,  of  gen- 
uine kindness.  Mrs.  Keene  was  a  noble-hearted  lady, 
who  delighted  to  promote  the  happiness  of  all  around 
her,  and  Peter  loved  to  serve  her  acceptably. 

But  to  this  Mr.  Norton  they  were  hired  for  the 
whole  year ;  and  violent  as  was  Master  Nattie  in  his 
phrensied  hours,  and  carefully  as  he  avoided  every 
indulgence  towards  them  which  might  seem  to  recog- 
nize their  humanity,  they  dreaded  to  exchange  him 
for  this  new  master,  for  of  him  report  spake  never 
kindly. 

Mr.  George  Norton — ah  I  how  grand  he  looked  as 
he  stood  near  the  shop  door  conversing  with  his  over- 
seer 1  His  broad-brimmed  hat  seemed  conscious  of  its 


44:  THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EANSOMED. 

elevated  position,  and  his  hair  descending  in  a  cue 
behind  was  stiff  and  stately.  The  very  smoke  from 
his  cigar  ascended  with  a  consequential  puff,  and  his 
cane  thumped  on  the  sidewalk  in  exact  accordance 
with  the  great  man's  varying  moods.  It  had  a  gentle 
tap  to  answer  words  of  compliment,  or  salutations  from 
the  rich  or  beautiful.  But  when  a  breath  of  contra- 
diction came,  or  any  sable  menial  hesitated  to  obey 
his  slightest  wish,  the  expressive  staff  beat  furiously 
upon  the  pavement,  in  token  of  the  vengeance  that 
should  fall  upon  the  offender's  head. 

A  fit  foil  to  his  pompous  superior  was  the  overseer, 
Mr.  Kisich.  Small  and  pale,  awkward  in  his  man- 
ners, and  "  slightly  lame,"  he  seemed  totally  indiffer- 
ent to  his  personal  appearance,  and  gloried  only  in 
the  force  and  accuracy  with  which  he  could  execute 
his  employer's  plans. 

He  was  a  native  of  the  Emerald  Isle,  as  his  "  rich 
brogue"  plainly  indicated ;  and,  like  some  of  his  more 
distinguished  countrymen  in  these  later  days,  claimed 
liberty  for  Irishmen,  and  equality  with  the  noblest  in 
every  land.  But  when 

"  He  found  his  fellow  guilty  of  a  skin 
Not  colored  like  his  own," 

he  could  see  him  bought  and  sold,  and  tasked,  and 
beaten,  without  a  single  impulse  of  pity. 

About  thirty  men  and  boys  were  employed  in  Mr. 
Norton's  establishment.  Of  these,  three  were  white 
men,  who  were  hired  to  do  that  part  of  the  work  which 
required  more  experience  and  skill  than  the  negroes 
were  supposed  to  possess.  These  acted  as  spies  and 


THE  TOBACCO  FACTORY.  45 

informers ;  making  the  privilege  of  tyrannizing  over 
their  dark-skinned  fellows,  a  sort  of  compensation  for 
the  degradation  which  is  inseparable,  in  slave-land, 
from  the  necessity  of  labor. 

Peter  and  Allison  succeeded  admirably  in  pleasing 
Mr.  Norton.  He  liked  their  ready  obedience,  and  their 
sprightly,  nimble  movements.  When  he  gave  an 
order,  he  could  not  wait  with  patience  its  dilatory 
execution,  and  they  loved  to  surprise  him  by  return- 
ing from  an  errand,  or  by  finishing  a  task  earlier  than 
he  expected.  Yet  by  this  they  won  no  praise.  It  was 
but  their  duty,  and  they  had  reason  to  rejoice  if,  by 
performing  it,  they  escaped  the  cow-hide. 

For  several  months  they  thus  succeeded  in  avoiding 
any  outbreak  of  his  wrath.  They  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  no  mild  exercise  of  authority,  and  the  angry 
strife  they  often  witnessed,  seemed  to  them,  if  not 
quite  necessary,  unavoidable  at  times.  Force  was  their 
law,  and  force  their  motive  to  obedience;  and  but  for 
their  brother-love,  and  the  warm  memory  of  their 
mother,  their  hearts  must  have  grown  callous  and 
incapable  of  affectionate  response. 

For  Levin  and  Peter  there  was  ever  a  bright  morn- 
ing in  remembrance,  and  they  were  young — could  they 
live  without  the  hope  of  returning  once  more  to  that 
mother-home?  Humble  was  the  cabin  which  they 
delighted  to  remember,  but  the  sunshine  came  freely 
in  at  the  open  door,  and  no  harsh  word  was  ever  heard 
within  the  lowly  walls. 

How  sweet,  how  soothing,  was  the  influence  of  these 
cherished  retrospects!  How  often,  when  their  tasks 
were  finished,  the  two  brothers  strolled  away  from  the 
noisy  mirth  with  which  their  companions  were  beguiling 


46  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   KANSOMED. 

the  twilight  hour,  and  in  low  tones  discussed  the  pos- 
sibilities of  an  escape  from  slavery — a  return  to  the 
dear  home  where  they  had  known  no  care  nor  fear. 

A  hundred  plans  they  at  different  times  suggested 
to  each  other,  but  the  execution  of  any  one  of  them 
required  more  knowledge  than  they  possessed,  or 
could  acquire.  And  then  there  were  so  many  that 
failed  in  such  attempts.  The  jail  was  always  tenanted 
by  captured  fugitives.  No — they  could  not  run  away. 

But  perhaps,  some  day,  they  might  buy  their  free- 
dom. They  could  work  nights  and  Sundays,  and  earn 
the  money,  and  then  they  would  be  safe.  This  was 
their  favorite  aerial  abode,  and  here  they  enjoyed  many 
bright  anticipations.  But  alas !  they  soon  learned  by 
the  sad  experience  of  others,  that  such  a  plan  was  all 
uncertain.  The  history  of  one  man  of  their  acquaint- 
ance in  Lexington,  taught  them  a  lesson  of  caution  on 
that  point,  that  chilled  their  ardent  hopes,  and  deep- 
ened their  distrust  of  seeming  friends. 

Spencer,  a  fine-looking  intelligent  mulatto,  belonged 
to  a  Mr.  Williams,  who.  kept  a  lottery  office  in  Lex- 
ington. His  master,  having  no  need  of  his  services, 
hired  him  out ;  usually  to  the  keepers  of  hotels  or  livery 
stables,  and  sometimes  to  Spencer  himself.  He  was  a 
great  favorite  with  the  white  people,  and  had  excellent 
opportunities  of  making  money;  not  only  by  extra 
services  about  the  hotels  or  stables,  but  also  by  doctor- 
ing horses,  in  which  he  had  much  skill. 

He  sometimes  speculated  in  lottery  tickets,  but  here 
Ms  success  availed  him  little.  He  drew  at  one  time  a 
house  and  lot  in  Lexington,  valued  at  $30,000,  and 
although  many  white  people  declared  that  it  would  be 
a  shame  to  deprive  him  of  the  benefit  of  his  good  for- 


THE   TOBACCO   FACTORY.  47 

tune,  yet  it  was  on  the  whole  deemed  an  unsafe  pre- 
cedent to  allow  a  negro  to  acquire  so  much  property. 
So  the  prize  was  finally  awarded  to  a  gentleman  in 
Philadelphia,  who  stood  second  in  the  list  of  successful 
competitors. 

Soon  after  this,  Spencer  conceived  the  idea  of  buying 
his  freedom,  and  proposed  the  subject  to  his  master. 
Mr.  "Williams  received  it  favorably,  and  fixed  the  price 
at  one  thousand  dollars. 

Spencer,  habitually  industrious,  had  now  a  new  ani- 
mation in  his  labors ;  and  so  untiring  was  his  diligence, 
that  in  a  few  years  he  had  paid  his  master  within 
twenty-five  dollars  of  the  whole  sum.  The  goal  of 
all  his  hopes  was  just  in  sight,  when  lo !  the  perfidious 
tyrant  denied  ever  having  promised  him  his  liberty, 
and  bade  him  never  mention  the  subject  more. 

Spencer  was  sorely  disappointed,  but  not  discouraged, 
and  when  not  long  after  a  gentleman  who  had  heard  the 
history  of  this  deception  offered  to  purchase  him,  and 
to  give  him  his  freedom .  as  soon  as  he  could  earn  the 
price  which  he  must  pay  to  "Williams,  the  hopeful  slave 
eagerly  accepted  the  offer. 

The  bargain  was  soon  concluded,  and  with  new  zeal, 
the  bondman  commenced  his  labors.  He  took  the  pre- 
caution this  time,  to  ask  for.  a  receipt  whenever  he 
made  a  payment.  This  was  readily  given,  and  Spencer 
deemed  himself  safe.  But  behold !  when  he  had  paid 
all  but  seventy  dollars,  his  new  master  suddenly  left 
town ;  and  before  the  poor  slave  was  aware  of  any  ap- 
proaching change,  an  agent  to  whose  care  he  had  been 
consigned,  had  sold  him  to  another  master.  He  was 
indignant  at  this  outrageous  fraud,  and  produced  his 
receipts,  which  he  had  carefully  preserved.  But  these 


48  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   KANSOHED. 

availed  nothing.  They  did  not  show  to  whom  the 
money  had  been  paid.  And  even  if  they  had  been 
properly  written  they  would  have  profited  nothing — 
for  does  not  a  slave's  money  as  well  as  his  person  and 
his  labor,  belong  to  his  master? 

Still  hope  died  not  in  Spencer's  breast.  Again  he 
tried  a  man  who  had  been  lavish  of  his  sympathy,  and 
loud  in  his  denunciations  of  the  baseness  by  which  he 
had  suffered.  Into  his  hands — for  the  third  time — he 
paid  the  hard-earned  price  of  his  redemption ;  and  when 
he  should  have  received  his  free  papers,  and  a  pass  out 
of  the  State,  he  was  chained  in  a  gang,  and  sent  to  the 
cotton  and  sugar  fields  of  the  south. 

To  the  ears  of  Peter  and  his  brother  came  many  tales 
like  this,  and  in  their  inmost  hearts  were  treasured  the 
lessons  of  caution  which  they  imparted.  Surely  there 
was  none  they  could  trust.  It  were  far  better,  by  ap- 
parent contentment,  and  by  cheerful  manners,  to  win 
the  confidence  of  those  in  whose  power  they  were  placed; 
than  to  become  objects  of  suspicion  and  dislike,  by  ill- 
tuned  efforts  to  be  free.  So  they  toiled  on,  their  genial 
sunny  natures,  and  the  warm  heart-love  ever  fresh 
within  their  breasts,  preserving  them  from  despair. 

Half  the  year  at  Mr.  Norton's  had  passed  away,  and 
neither  of  the  boys  belonging  to  old  Nattie  Gist  had 
fallen  into  any  serious  difficulty.  They  had  witnessed 
many  exhibitions  of  their  employer's  cruelty,  and  one 
which  occurred  about  this  time,  filled  their  hearts  with 
horror. 

Mr.  Norton's  body-servant,  a  large  black  man, 
chanced  one  day  to  offend  his  haughty  master.  He 
was  immediately  put  in  a  buck,  and  in  the  presence  of 
all  the  men  and  boys,  Norton  inflicted  on  his  naked 


THE  TOBACCO  FACTOKY.  49 

back  three  hundred  lashes  with  a  cowhide.  The  blood 
gushed  out,  and  ran  in  streams  upon  the  brick  floor  of 
the  shop. 

When  the  stick  was  removed  from  under  his  knees, 
the  poor  victim  was  unable  to  rise.  At  this  his  tor- 
mentor was  enraged.  He  seized  a  board  that  lay  near, 
full  of  shingle  nails,  and  with  it  struck  him  several 
violent  blows ,  every  one  of  which  brought  the  blood 
in  streams,  as  though  he  had  been  pierced  with  lancets. 

The  slaves  who  witnessed  this  horrid  deed  were 
paralyzed  with  fear,  but  the  white  men  swore  it  was 
just  right.  The  cursed  niggers — they  must  be  con- 
quered, or  they  would  not  be  worth  a  d — n. 

Here  young  Peter's  caution  for  a  moment  failed. 
His  eyes,  usually  so  mild,  flashed  fiercely,  and  he  de- 
clared in  a  low  voice  to  his  brother  that  George  Norton 
should  never  strip  him  and  put  him  in  a  buck  to  whip 
him — he  would  die  first. 

Poor  boy !  his  rash  speech  was  overheard,  and  re- 
ported to  the  tyrant,  who  from  that  day  waited  only 
an  excuse  to  punish  his  presumption. 

The  next  Saturday  evening,  as  the  boys  were  sweep- 
ing the  shop,  an  old  woman  came  in  and  asked  for 
some  tobacco.  Peter,  being  nearest  the  door,  gathered 
up  a  handful  of  the  sweepings,  and  gave  them  to  her. 

On  the  following  morning,  it  was  Peter's  turn  to 
make  a  fire  in  the  sweat-room ;  and  when  he  had  per- 
formed this  duty,  he  locked  the  door  of  the  shop  and 
went  to  his  old  master's,  where  he  usually  spent  his 
Sundays.  Here  he  played  marbles,  and  enjoyed  such 
other  sports  as  are  proper  for  the  Sabbath-rest  of  slave- 
boys,  while  their  young  masters  are  at  the  Sunday- 


50  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

school  or  in  the  billiard-room  —  according  to  their 
tastes. 

Peter  had  been  absent  from  the  shop  but  a  short 
time  when  Mr.  Norton  himself  took  a  fancy  to  go  in 
and  look  at  the  tobacco.  He  tried  the  door,  but  it 
was  locked,  and  the  key  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
His  anger  rose.  Ah !  Peter,  a  heavy  cloud  is  gather- 
ing, and  there  is  no  shelter  for  thy  defenceless  head ! 

Early  Monday  morning,  Mr.  Norton  came  into  the 
shop.  His  eyes  looked  darker  and  brighter  than  usual, 
and  the  smoke  from  his  cigar  came  in  quick  passion- 
ate puffs.  His  cane,  too,  beat  an  ominous  march  upon 
the  floor.  Something  was  wrong. 

The  great  man  spoke.  "Whose  business  was  it  to 
make  a  fire  in  the  sweat-room  yesterday  ?" 

"  Mine,  sir,"  said  Peter. 

"Did  you  attend  to  it?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  did!  where  were  you  when  I  came  here?" 

"Don't  know,  sir, — reckon  I  was  up  home." 

"  Where  is  your  home,  your  rascal  ?" 

"  Up  to  Mars  Nattie's,  sir." 

"  I'll  let  you  know,  nigger,  that  this  is  your  home, 
and  that  I  am  your  master !"  and  with  a  furious  thump- 
ing of  his  cane,  the  mighty  man  strode  out  of  the  shop. 
He  was  in  a  rage.  It  always  made  him  angry  for  one 
of  his  hired  servants  to  callliis  owner,  "Master;" — it 
was  his  law  that  in  his  shop  no  one  should  receive  that 
ennobling  title  except  himself. 

Before  sunrise  the  next  morning,  just  as  the  work 
of  the  day  was  commenced,  Mr.  Norton  appeared  at 
the  door.  He  stood  a  few  minutes  perfectly  still,  and 


THE   TOBACCO   FACTOKY.  51 

then  taking  out  his  knife,  lie  commenced  trimming  a 
switch — whistling  meantime  a  beautiful  march. 

The  sweet  notes  woke  no  answering  melody  in  the 
hearts  of  those  within,  for  well  they  knew  the  spirit  of 
their  master.  Only  when  about  to  inflict  some  cruel 
punishment  did  George  Norton  utter  sounds  like  these. 

His  march  ended,  he  spoke — 

"Peter!" 

"Sir." 

"Where  were  you,  yesterday?" 

"  Here,  sir,  strippin'  tobacco. 

"Well,  Sunday,  where  were  you?" 

"  Home,  to  Mars  Nattie's,  sir." 

The  hot  blood  mounted  to  Mr.  Norton's  face.  "/ 
am  your  master,  rascal,  and  I'll  let  you  know  you  are 
to  go  to  no"  other  home  than  this !  Who  swept  the 
shop  on  Saturday  ?" 

"  We  boys,  sir,  all  of  us." 

"Who  gave  tobacco  to  an  old  woman?" 

"  I  gave  her  a  handful  of  sweepings,  sir, — no  'count, 
no  how,  sir." 

"Well,  you'll  find  /am  your  master,  and  you  are 
to  obey  me.  Come  here,  and  lie  down  across  this 
box." 

Peter  obeyed,  wondering  at  the  same  time  that  he 
had  not  been  ordered  to  strip.  It  was  not  Mr.  Nor- 
ton's custom  to  whip  his  servants  over  their  clothes, 
and  the  boy  had  on  a  new  suit  of  blue  linsey.  But 
he  had  heard  of  the  expression  he  had  made  a  few 
days  before,  and  perhaps  thought  best  to  avoid  an 
unnecessary  contest. 

No  sooner  was  the  boy  extended  across  the  desig- 
nated box,  than  Norton  struck  him  a  violent  blow. 


52  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

Peter  raised  up.  "  Lie  down  you  nigger !"  and  he  re- 
newed the  blows  with  greater  force.  Peter  raised 
up  again.  "  Lie  down  1"  cried  the  fuiy,  with  a  curse. 
Peter  obeyed  the  third  tie,  and  them  blows  fell  hard 
and  fast. 

Once  more  he  raised  up.  "Lie  down!  I  say,  you 
cursed  nigger — if  you  move  again  till  I  bid  you,  I  will 
beat  you  till  you  cannot  rise." 

The  boy  stood  upright,  and  looked  his  tormentor 
steadily  in  the  face.  "I  have  laid  down  three  times 
for  you  to  beat  me,  when  I  have  done  nothing  wrong ; 
I  will  not  lie  down  again !" 

Instantly  Norton  seized  him,  and  attempted  to  force 
him  across  the  box — but  was  unable.  "Here,  Mr. 
Kisich!  Tadlock!  all  of  you  I  help  me  conquer  this 
nigger!" 

Quick  to  his  aid  came  the  overseer,  and  the  three 
other  white  men  that  worked  in  the  shop,  and  all  fell 
upon  him  at  once,  while  Peter  screamed  "Murder!" 
and  fought  with  his  utmost  strength. 

People  in  the  street  heard  the  tumult,  and  gathered 
about  the  doors  of  the  shop ;  when  Norton  ordered 
them  closed  and  fastened.  Among  those  thus  excluded 
was  Sandford  Keene,  the  nephew  of  old  Nattie  Gist. 
He  listened  to  the  uproar  with  anxious  ears,  but  could 
not  determine  from  which  of  the  boys  the  cries  pro- 
ceeded. Had  he  known  that  it  was  Peter,  his  special 
favorite,  to  whom  also  his  wife  was  much  attached, 
he  could  hardly  have  refrained  from  rushing  in  to  his 
rescue. 

The  ruffians  tried  to  bind  his  hands,  but  he  struggled 
so  fiercely  that  they  were  in  danger  of  breaking  his 
bones.  That  would  have  been  too  costly  an  amuse- 


THE  TOBACCO   FACTORY.  53 

ment.  But-  they  succeeded  in  throwing  him  upon  the 
floor,  and  there  he  struggled,  and  screamed,  and  bit 
their  legs  and  ankles,  till  they  despaired  of  holding 
him  in  any  position,  unless  they  could  succeed  in  tying 
him. 

One  of  them,  accordingly,  prepared  a  slip  noose, 
and  threw  it  over  his  head  when  he  rose  up  — with 
intent  to  choke  him.  He  perceived  their  purpose,  and 
quickly  raising  both  hands,  thrust  them  through  the 
noose  and  slipped  it  down  below  his  arms. 

Thus  baffled  in  one  scheme,  they  resorted  to  another. 
Dragging  him  along  by  the  rope  now  fastened  around 
his  waist,  they  proceeded  to  the  back  part  of  the  shop 
where  stood  five  or  six  presses,  each  about  eight  feet 
high.  If  they  could  hang  him  up  on  one  of  these  he 
would  be  entirely  at  their  mercy.  But  he  foiled  them 
here.  As  they  raised  the  rope  to  fasten  it  to  the  top 
of  the  press,  he  sprang  one  side,  and  crept  into  the 
narrow  space  between  it  and  the  wall. 

Here  he  remained  for  some  time.  Bleeding  and 
panting — his  bloodshot  eyes  glared  at  his  persecutors, 
who,  on  both  sides,  were  engaged  in  beating  him  over 
the  head  with  cowhides  and  hoop-poles,  and  thrusting 
sticks  and  pieces  of  iron  against  his  bruised  flesh. 

At  last  they  dragged  him  from  his  partial  hiding 
place ;  and  now  he  made  no  resistance — he  had  not 
strength  to  struggle.  Norton  threw  him  across  a  keg, 
and  with  fiendish  curses,  whipped  his  bleeding  back 
with  a  cowhide ;  swearing  he  was  the  first  nigger  that 
ever  tried  to  fight  him,  and  that  he  should  be  humbled 
if  it  took  his  life. 

When  this  correction  was  finished  it  was  nearly  ten 


54  THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   KANSOMED. 

o'clock ;  and,  commanding  the  other  slaves,  who  stood 
agape  with  horror,  to  go  to  work,  Mr.  Norton,  followed 
by  his  aids,  went  to  the  house  for  breakfast.  They 
had  exercised  sufficiently  to  eat  with  good  appetites ; 
and  while  they  were  enjoying  a  plentiful  repast,  and 
discussing  in  their  own  peculiar  style,  the  "  obstinacy 
of  the  nigger,"  their  poor  victim,  bruised  and  torn, 
with  only  a  few  shreds  left  of  his  new  suit  of  linsey, 
crept  out  of  the  shop,  and  with  his  little  remaining 
strength,  succeeded  in  gaining  the  residence  of  his 
master,  on  the  hill. 

Old  Nattie  Gist  had,  according  to  his  morning  cus- 
tom, gone  down  town.  Aunt  Mary,  the  cook,  how- 
ever, received  him  kindly,  pitied  him,  and  dressed  his 
wounds.  She  had  a  human  mother's  heart,  and  her 
two  boys  were  slaves. 

Peter  guessed  rightly,  that  his  old  master,  cruel  as 
he  was  himself,  would  not  like  to  see  his  property  thus 
damaged  by  others.  Yet  he  spoke  no  gentle  word  to 
the  sufferer.  He  would  not  intimate  to  a  "  nigger" 
that  a  white  man  could  do  him  wrong.  But  he  sought 
Norton,  and  cursed  him  roundly  for  inflicting  such 
abuse  upon  a  boy  of  his. 

For  a  week  he  allowed  Peter  to  stay  at  home,  and 
then  he  sent  him  back  to  the  shop.  Here  he  remained 
till  the  end  of  the  year.  Norton  was  evidently  either 
ashamed  of  his  previous  violence,  or  afraid  to  repeat 
its  exercise,  for  never  after  that  did  Peter  receive  an 
unkind  word  from  him  or  either  of  his  satellites. 

Just  before  Christmas,  Mr.  Norton  went  to  old  Mas- 
ter Nattie,  and,  assuring  him  that  the  boys  were  all 
perfectly  satisfied  with  the  past,  and  anxious  to  remain 


THE   TOBACCO   FACTORY.  55 

with  him,  hired  them  for  another  year.  But  when 
their  time  expired,  they  all  ran  off  together  to  their 
master,  and  he  did  not  force  them  to  go  back. 

This  was  a  merry  Christmas-time  to  these  four  boys. 
They  had  been  accustomed  to  severity  before,  and  had 
lived  on  poor  and  scanty  fare.  Yet  even  their  old 
master,  heartless  as  he  seemed,  was  not  systematic  in 
his  cruelty.  When  he  went  down  town  in  the  morn- 
ing, .there  was  none  to  watch  them  till  he  returned. 
They  could  talk,  and  laugh,  and  sing ;  if  they  but  fin- 
ished their  tasks,  they  had  little  to  fear. 

But,  at  Norton's  shop,  there  was  scarcely  a  minute 
of  the  day  that  evil  eyes  were  not  upon  them.  Not  a 
laugh,  a  gesture,  or  grimace,  but  was  remembered 
and  quoted  as  a  token  of  disrespect  to  the  lofty  mas- 
ter, who  could  ill  brook  a  jest  reflecting  on  his  dig- 
nity. 


CHAPTER    V. 
THE     SEPARATION. 

IN  the  fall  of  this  year  (1817),  the  community  of 
which  old  Nattie  Gist  was  the  centre  and  the  head, 
became  greatly  agitated. 

The  old  man  had  two  nephews,  Levi  and  Andrew 
Gist,  of  whom  he  was  very  fond.  They  were  both 
sons  of  his  brother  William,  who  resided  on  a  farm  a 
few  miles  out  of  town. 

These  young  men,  after  much  discussion,  and  not- 
withstanding some  opposition  from  their  friends,  de- 
termined to  seek  their  fortunes  in  Alabama.  They 
had  heard  temptingjeports  of  the  fertility  of  the  valley 
of  the  Tennessee,  and  of  the  ease  with  which  a  fortune 
could  be  made  by  raising  cotton;  and  besides,  they 
were  Kentuckians,  and  loved  adventure. 

Their  uncle  liked  the  spirit  of  enterprize  that  im- 
pelled them ;  he  liked  money  too,  and  he  foresaw  that 
they  would  have  fine  opportunities  in  that  new  country 
of  amassing  wealth. 

Levi  Gist,  the  elder  of  the  two  brothers,  had  always 
been  a  special  favorite  with  his  uncle,  and  to  him  he 
intrusted  six  of  his  negroes.  These  he  was  to  take 
with  him  to  Alabama,  to  assist  him  in  putting  in  his 
first  crop.  The  old  man  promised  to  go  himself  the 

[36] 


THE   SEPAEATION.  57 

next  year,  if  they  should  like  the  country,  and  decide 
to  settle  there. 

The  command  to  prepare  to  go  with  Master  Levi, 
fell  with  crushing  weight  upon  the  hearts  of  the  doomed 
slaves.  Old  Frank  and  his  wife  Peggy  were  the  first 
to  learn  their  sentence.  They  were  indignant  at  the 
word.  Long  and  wearily  had  they  toiled  in  their 
master's  service.  Patiently  had  they  endured  hunger. 
Stripes  and  cursings  had  been  their  frequent  portion, 
and  these  they  had  learned  to  receive  without  com- 
plaint. Now  they  were  growing  aged,  and  to  be  torn 
from  the  old  place,  and  from  all  the  friends  in  whose 
society  the  Sundays  passed  so  pleasantly,  seemed  too 
hard  a  trial. 

Their  two  children  were  to  go  with  them.  That 
was  some  comfort,  but  a  deeper  sorrow,  for  they  would 
be  forced  to  work  in  those  great  cotton  fields,  wliere 
venemous  snakes  would  hiss  at  them,  and  cruel  over- 
seers watch  their  toil. 

Yet  old  Frank  and  Peggy  had  not  the  deepest  cause 
for  grief.  Levin  and  Alfred  were  destined  to  accom- 
pany them,  and  they  must  each  leave  behind  his 
brother,  dearer  to  him  than  life  itself. 

The  young  men  intended  to  take  with  them  every 
thing  that  would  be  needed  to  stock  a  new  plantation. 
To  collect  and  arrange  in  travelling  order  all  their 
goods,  required  much  time  and  labor,  and  every  hand, 
at  home,  and  at  their  uncle's,  was  enlisted  in  their 
service. 

At  Master  Nattie's,  particularly,  all  was  now  excite- 
ment and  confusion.     The  old  man  hurried  to  and  fro, 
administering  curses  and  stripes  to  all  who  failed  to 
execute  his  plans.     The  boys  who  had  been  hired  out, 
3* 


58  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

were  brought  home  to  aid  in  these  unusual  labors,  and 
thus  the  brothers,  that  must  so  soon  be  separated,  were 
allowed  to  spend  the  last  few  days  in  each  others 
society. 

The  thought  that  his  brother  must  go  to  the  South 
was  agony  to  Peter.  In  all  their  sorrows,  thus  far, 
they  had  been  together.  They  had  shared  the  same 
little  pleasures — their  hearts  had  been  as  one.  And 
now,  to  be  sundered  so  wide — could  they  live  apart? 

"  O  Levin,  Levin !  if  they  take  you  'way  off  there, 
I  sha'n't  never  see  you  no  more,  sure!" 

"  O  yes,"  sobbed  Levin,  his  heart  almost  broken, 
while  yet  he  strove  to  speak  cheeringly  to  his  weeping 
brother — "  0  yes,  Mars  Nattie  say  he  gwine  bring  ye 
all  next  year  when  he  come." 

"  Mars  Nattie  !  He  never  gwine  'way  off  there ! 
He'll  stay  here  long  as  he  can  get  breath  enough  to 
curse.  He's  too  old  to  go  to  a  new  country,  any  how." 

"  Well,  he  have  to  die  some  day — he  can't  live  a 
mons's  long  time,  sure." 

"  Yes,  and  if  he  dies,  we'll  all  be  sold — they  allers 
has  an  auction  when  folks  dies — and  then  their  people's 
scattered  all  about.  O  'pears  like  'taint  no  use  livin' 
in  this  yer  world.  I  sha'n't  never  see  you  no  more !" 

The  preparations  for  the  journey  were  at  last  com- 
pleted, and  one  pleasant  afternoon  in  October,  the  little 
company  of  slaves  had  orders  to  repair  to  Master 
William's,  in  order  to  be  ready  to  start  with  their 
young  masters  the  next  morning. 

"  Mars  Nattie,"  said  Levin,  as  they  were  all  assem- 
bled in  the  yard  to  say  good-bye,  "  please,  sir,  give  me 
something  'fore  I  go,  to  'member  you  by." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  go  in  and  bring  me  the 


THE   SEPARATION.  59 

cowhide,  and  I'll  give  you  something  you'll  never 
forget.  If  I  should  give  you  a  coat  or  a  shirt,  you 
would  wear  it  right  out,  but  if  I  cut  your  skin  to  pieces, 
you  will  remember  this  parting  as  long  as  you  live. 
And  mind,  you  rascal,  when  I  come  out  next  fall,  I'll 
bring  the  cowhide,  and  if  you  don't  behave  yourself,  I'll 
give  you  enough  then — d'ye  hear?" 

Such,  interspersed  with  numerous  curses,  was  the 
kind  farewell  of  old  Nattie  Gist.  The  servants  all 
shook  hands,  and  strove  to  speak  in  cheering  tones  to 
their  departing  friends  ;  but  great  tears  stood  in  their 
eyes  as  they  watched  the  little  company  slowly  march- 
ing down  the  hill. 

Sadly  they  returned  to  their  work,  but  their  thoughts 
crept  on  toward  the  dim  future.  Which  of  them 
should  go  next  ?  Master  Nattie  had  sold,  during  the 
past  year,  more  than  half  his  servants ;  and  none 
could  tell  what  caprice  might  seize  him  before  another 
year  should  pass.  They  might  all  be  chained  in  a 
gang,  and  driven  away  by  some  barbarous  trader. 
Heavily  throbbed  their  hearts  as  these  gloomy  fancies 
floated  before  them ;  ^id  while  they  tried  to  repress 
the  tears  that  would  scald  their  aching  eye-balls,  they 
pursued  their  task  in  silence. 

Peter  returned  no  more  to  his  work  at  Mr.  Hudson 
Martin's,  where  he  had  spent  the  former  part  of  the 
year,  but  was  sent  by  his  master  to  take  Levin's  place 
as  waiter  at  Mr.  John  D.  Young's. 
.  Mr.  Young  was  not  a  rich  man — indeed  he  had 
failed  in  business,  and  now  inhabited  a  small  brick 
house  on  the  plantation  of  his  father-in-law.  He  was 
an  intelligent  gentleman,  of  pleasant  manners,  and 
great  kindliness  of  heart.  Had  his  wife  resembled  him 


60  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

in  amiability  and  gentleness,  their  home  would  have 
been  happy ;  but  she  was  unfortunately  destitute  of  that 
true  independence  and  dignity  of  character,  that  can 
meet  worldly  reverses  with  composure.  She  felt 
humiliated  by  their  comparative  poverty,  and  the  com- 
forts with  which  she  was  surrounded  looked  hateful  in 
her  eyes,  because  the  splendors  wealth  might  purchase, 
were  beyond  her  reach.  Her  servants  endured  niostf 
in  consequence  of  this  unfortunate  peculiarity.  From 
morning  till  night  they  were  scolded,  till  they  came  to 
heed  the  shrill  voice  of  their  mistress,  no  more  than 
they  would  heed  the  rain-drops  on  the  roof. 

During  the  few  months  which  Peter  spent  in  the 
service  of  Mr.  Young,  he  passed  many  pleasant  hours 
at  Mr.  Clay's.  His  childish  fear  of  the  great  statesman 
had  changed  to  deepest  reverence  ;  and,  though  young 
masters  Theodore  and  Thomas  Clay,  no  longer  played, 
as  had  been  their  childish  custom,  with  their  colored 
favorite,  they  treated  him  ever  with  perfect  kindness. 

But  with  the  servants,  every  one  of  whom  was  privi- 
leged beyond  the  common  lot  of  slaves,  he  was  always 
at  home ;  and  many  a  pleasam^vinter  evening  did  he 
spend  at  Ashland. 

Among  the  slaves  that  gathered  there  at  night,  one 
of  the  merriest  was  Aaron  the  coachman.  He  was  the 
father  of  Mr.  Clay's  body  servant,  Charles,  who,  during 
the  last  years  of  his  master's  life,  was  ever  at  his  side.. 

Aaron  was  an  excellent  servant — quick  and  ener- 
getic, and  his  mirthfulness  and  genuine  good  feeling 
rendered  him  a  favorite  with  all ;  while  his  stories, 
songs  and  merry  jests,  made  the  warm  kitchen  ring 
again. 

But  he  had  one  fault.     He  loved  a  dram,  and  when 


THE   SEPARATION.  61 

tempted  by  the  sight  or  smell  of  his  favorite  liquor, 
he  could  seldom  resist  the  entreaties  of  his  appetite. 

This  weakness  was  peculiarly  annoying  to  Mrs.  Clay, 
as  it  frequently  unfitted  him  for  business  at  a  time 
when  she  had  most  need  of  his  services. 

He  one  day  drove  her  carriage  into  town,  and  while 
she  was  making  a  visit,  he  improved  the  opportunity 
to  indulge  in  a  glass  of  his  loved  beverage ;  and  by  the 
time  his  mistress  was  ready  to  go  home,  he  was  wholly 
incapable  of  driving  her  carriage.  She  was,  therefore, 
obliged  to  hire  a  man  to  take  his  place,  and  she  then 
resolved  that  Aaron  should  be  punished.  But  it  could 
not  be  done  without  Mr.  Clay's  consent,  as  the  over- 
seer was  forbidden  to  strike  one  of  the  house  servants, 
without  consulting  him. 

So  to  her  husband  she  recited  the  story  of  her  mor- 
tification, and,  as  he  had  tried  various  mild  means  to 
cure  the  slave  of  this  unlucky  propensity,  he  decided 
that  it  was  best  to  use  more  severe  measures. 

The  next  morning  he  sent  for  the  overseer,  and 
directed  him  to  take  Aaron  into  the  carriage-house, 
and  give  him  a  slight  whipping.  "  Now  do  it  quietly," 
said  he,  "  and  be  sure  not  to  cut  his  skin.  I  don't 
want  to  hear  any  disturbance.  Do  it  as  gently  as 
possible." 

The  overseer  respectfully  assented  and  went  out. 
Instantly  one  of  the  maids,  who  had  chanced  to  over- 
hear this  conversation,  stole  out  of  the  house,  and 
sought  Aaron. 

"  Look  yer,"  said  she,  "  you  know  what  massa  say  ?" 

"Know  what  massa  say?  No!  How  I  know 
what  he  say,  when  he  never  spoke  to  me  this 
mornin'  ?" 


62  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

"Well,  lie  say  to  the  overseer — 'Aaron  must  be 
punish — for  lie  take  a  dram  when  Mrs.  Clay  want  him 
to  drive  for  her — you  may  take  him  to  the  carriage- 
house  and  whip  him,  but  don't=cut  him  up.'  " 

"  Don't  cut  him  up !  Massa  say  so  ?  "Well,  wellj 
reckon  this  chile  be  ready.  Overseer  mighty  good — 
he  talk  so  clever — 'pears  like  he  thinks  I 's  white  some- 
times, but  the  devil  in  his  eye  He  done  wanted,  this 
long  time,  get  a  cut  at  me.  I  knows  what  overseers 
means  when  they  gets  too  good.  Yah !  yah !  he  thinks 
now  his  gwine  give  this  chile  all  he  owes  him." 

The  girl's  astonished  eyes  followed  Aaron  as  he 
leaped  over  the  fence,  and  ran  toward  a  small  grocery 
that  stood  at  a  short  distance  on  the  road  to  town- 
Here  he  had  no  difficulty  in  procuring  a  dram ;  and, 
having  thus  fitted  himself  for  the  anticipated  contest, 
he  walked  home,  and  resumed  his  work. 

Soon  the  overseer  called  from  the  carriage-house 
door — Aaron !" 

"Sir?" 

"  Come  here." 

In  a  moment  the  slave  stood  before  him. 

"Aaron,  Mr.  Clay  says  you  must  come  into  the 
carriage-house  and  be  whipped." 

"  Did  Massa  say  so  ?" 

11  Yes — he  says  your  habit  of  drinking  annoys  your 
mistress  so  often,  that  you  must  be  punished  for  it. 
He  says  he  has  tried  to  persuade  you  to  leave  it  off, 
but  it  does  no  good.  I  don't  like  to  whip  you,  Aaron, 
but  it  is  Mr.  Clay's  orders." 

"  Well,  if  Ma^sa  says  so,  then  it  must  be  so,"  and  he 
walked  quietly  into  the  carriage-house,  followed  by  his 


THE   SEPAKATIOJST.  63 

kind  friend,  the  overseer,  who  fastened  the  door  on  the 
inside. 

"  Now,  Mr. ,"  said  Aaron,  "  you  may  whip  me, 

if  Massa  says  so,  but  you  needn't  tie  me — I  wont  be 
tied." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  overseer,  throwing  down 
the  rope  which  he  had  in  .his  hand,  "you  needn't  be 
tied,  if  you  will  stand  still ;  but  you  must  take  off  your 
coat." 

"  Yes  sir;  but  if  I  take  off  my  coat  to  be  whipped, 
you  ought  to  take  yourn  off  first  to  whip  me." 

The  man  perceived  that  he  had  been  drinking,  and 
knew  he  must  indulge  his  whim,  if  he  would  obey  Mr. 
Clay's  orders  to  keep  quiet — so  he  pulled  off  his  coat, 
and  Aaron  quickly  laid  his  beside  it  on  the  floor. 
Then  followed  the  vest — the  slave  insisting  that  Mr. 

should  first  remove  his  own.  "  Now  your  shirt, 

Aaron,"  said  he. 

"Yes  sir,  but  you  must  take  off  yourn  first." 

This  was  going  further,  for  quiet's  sake,  than  the 
overseer  had  intended;  but  he  hesitated  only  a  mo- 
ment. It  would  be  best,  he  thought,  to  humor  him. 
He  had,  in  truth,  long  wished  for  a  chance  to  humble 
Aaron,  and  now  the  time  had  come. 

But,  behold !  no  sooner  had  he  lifted  his  arms  to 
pull  his  shirt  over  his  head,  than  Aaron  seized  the 
garment,  and  twisting  it  around  his  neck,  held  him. 
fast.  Then  catching  the  whip,  he  applied  it  vigorously 
to  the  overseer's  naked  back,  raising  the  skin  at  every 
stroke.  His  victim  screamed,  and  threatened  him  with 
vengeance,  but  all  in  vain ;  the  blows  fell  hard  and 
fast. 

Mr.  Clay  heard  the  outcry,  and  grew  very  angry. 


64  THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

"I  told  him,"  said  he,  "to  make  no  noise,  and  to  be 
Bare  not  to  whip  the  poor  fellow  severely.  He  must 
be  cutting  him  to  pieces." 

He  hastened  to  the  carriage-house.  The  door  was 
fastened  within,  but  he  could  hear  the  whizzing  of  the 
whip,  as  it  descended  on  the  sufferer's  back.  "Open 
the  door!"  he  cried.  "Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  whip 
him  hard?  Open  the  door,  I  say ! 

"0,  Mr.  Clay!  it's  Aaron  whipping  me!  I  haven't 
given  him  a  blow." 

"Aaron,"  cried  the  master,  "open  the  door." 

Instantly  the  slave  obeyed.  With  his  right  hand, 
in  which  he  still  held  the  whip  that  he  had  used  to 
such  good  purpose,  he  opened  the  door,  while  with  his 
left  he  retained  his  vice-like  grasp  of  the  twisted  shirt. 
His  face  was  all  complacency,  yet  his  eyes  twinkled 
with  mirth,  and  a  roguish  smile  lurked  at  the  corner 
of  his  mouth. 

Mr.  Clay  stood  for  a  few  moments  mute  with  astonish- 
ment. But  when  he  fully  comprehended  the  strange 
scene,  he  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh,  and  although  the 
overseer,  as  soon  as  he  was  released,  proceeded  to  ex- 
plain to  him  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  caught, 
and  insisted  that  he  should  now  be  allowed  to  whip 
Aaron,  his  arguments  were  lost.  The  master  quietly 
expressed  his  opinion  that  there  had  been  whipping,- 
enough-— it  was  not  necessary  to  go  any  further.  \ 


CHAPTER  VI. 
MASTER    NATTIE'S   DEATH. 

IN  April,  1818,  Mr.  Young  having  no  further  need 
of  Peter's  services,  Master  Nattie  sent  him  to  his  brother, 
William  Gist,  to  be  employed  on  his  plantation.  Here 
Allison  was  his  companion  once  more,  and  the  pleasure 
of  being  together  was,  in  part,  a  compensation  to  each 
for  the  absence -of  his  brother. 

But  this  joy  was  transient.  Early  in  the  ensuing 
summer,  young  Master  Andrew  came  from  Alabama 
for  a  short  visit.  He  brought  news  of  the  health  and 
prosperity  of  those  who  had  gone  with  him  the  year 
before,  and  gave  glowing  descriptions  of  the  beauty  of 
the  country.  The  rich  bottom  lands,  with  their  grand 
old  trees,  the  clustering  vines  and  graceful  flowering 
shrubs,  and,  above  all,  the  abundance  of  game  in  the 
forests,  afforded  exhaustless  topics  of  discourse. 

When  he  returned,  he  took  Allison  with  him. 

Peter  was  left  all  alone,  and  his  heart  was  very 
heavy.  There  was  no  one  now  to  whom  he  could 
communicate  all  his  little  trials ;  none  that  would  sym- 
pathize with  his  griefs.  He  had  nothing  but  work  to 
divert  his  thoughts  during  the  day ;  and  at  night  his 
dieams,  sleeping  or  waking,  were  all  of  that  dear 

[65] 


66  THE   KIDXAPPED   AXD   THE   RANSOMED. 

brother,  that  had  for  so  many  years  trod  by  his  side 
the  rugged  path  to  which  they  two  were  doomed. 

Soon  after  the  departure  of  his  nephew,  Master 
Nattie's  health  was  observed  to  fail ;  and  though  for  a 
long  time  he  struggled  against  disease,  and  would  not 
own  that  he  was  ill,  yet  he  was  at  last  obliged  to  yield. 
His  constitution  was  worn  out  by  intemperance  and 
the  indulgence  of  evil  passions;  and  now,  no  med- 
icine could  retard  the  steady  approach  of  the  Death 
Angel. 

Twice  a  week,  during  the  summer,  Peter  was  accus- 
tomed to  go  to  market.  Then  he  never  failed  to  visit 
his  old  master ;  and  as  he  saw  his  sunken  eye  and 
hollow  cheek,  and  noted  his  vacant  wandering  stare, 
his  heart  sank  within  him. 

He  did  not  regard  his  master  with  affection.  Who 
could  love  old  ISTattie  Gist  ?  But  the  sale,  ah !  if  he 
should  die,  there  would,  of  course,  be  'an  auction,  and 
the  traders  would  be  there,  and  then,  adieu  to  the  last 
hope  he  had  cherished,  of  one  day  joining  his  beloved 
brother. 

The  unhappy  old  man  continued  to  fail.  Death 
stays  not  at  the  behest  of  kings  or  generals ;  how  then 
should  the  faint  prayer  of  a  poor  slave-boy  impede  his 
progress  ? 

In  loneliness  and  gloom  passed  thejast  days  of  the 
wretched  man.  His  housekeeper  and  cook,  Aunt 
Mary,  was  his  constant  nurse.  She  understood  all  his 
wants,  and  she  had  learned  patiently  to  bear  all  his 
caprices.  Her  will — her  very  womanhood — had  been 
crushed  into  submission  to  his  authority ;  for  though  a 
slave  called  her  his  wife,  she  had  for  years  been  forced 
to  disregard  her  marriage  ties,  as  Avell  as  her  own 


MASTER.  NATTIE'S  DEATH.  67 

honor,  in  order  to  indulge  the  base  passions  of  the 
tyrant. 

Now,  in  the  death-hour,  the  down-trodden  woman 
moistened  his  parched  lips,  all  heedless  of  the  curses 
which  they  uttered.  Her  hand  smoothed  his  pillow, 
administered  his  medicine,  and  surrounded  him  with 
all  possible  comforts. 

Death  advanced.  On  Saturday  morning,  the  thir- 
teenth of  September,  when,  according  to  his  custom, 
Peter  went  in  to  see  him,  the  final  struggle  had  com- 
menced. His  brother  "William  and  the  doctor  were 
standing  by  the  bed.  Silently  they  witnessed  his 
agony  as  he  strove  with  the  King  of  Terrors.  There 
was  no  light  of  Christian  hope  in  his  glazing  eye,  no 
love  in  his  .obdurate  heart.  He  would  resist — he  would 
live !  Why  should  he  die  ?  This  world  had  been 
gloomy.  No  love-light  had  shone  upon  his  path — 
no  gentle  hand  had  led  him  through  the  labyrinths  of 
evil  to  the  Author  of  all  good.  And  as  his  lips  had 
loved  cursing,  why  should  he  look  for  blessings  now  ? 
Could  he  hope  for  a  better  life  than  he  had  chosen 
here  ?  Fearful  was  the  frown  upon  his  face  as  he  was 
forced  to  yield  to  the  great  Conqueror.  He  strug- 
gled— groaned — gasped — he  was  gone. 

Silently  they  closed  his  eyes,  and  horror  sat  upon 
every  countenance. 

They  buried  Mm,  and  raised  a  stone  to  his  memory. 
Ah !  he  chose  his  own  remembrancers !  Poor  Levin 
and  his  fellows  need  no  stone  to  tell  them  that  a  mon- 
ster lived. 

After  the  funeral  Mr.  Wm.  Gist  conveyed  the  greater 
part  of  his  brother's  property  to  his  place  for  safe 
keeping.  A  will  was  found  conveying  to  his  favorite 


68  THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

nephew,  Levi  Gist,  the  house  and  lot  in  Lexington,  as 
well  as  all  the  servants.  Whatever  money  he  pos- 
sessed he  left  in  legacies  to  his  other  relatives. 

At  the  time  of  his  death,  Master  Nattie  owned  but 
eleven  slaves — the  six  that  went  first  to  Alabama. 
Aunt  Mary,  with  her  two  sons,  and  Allison  and  Peter. 
The  others  he  had  sold  some  time  before. 

Aunt  Mary  was  left  in  town  to  take  care  of  the 
house,  till  young  master  Levi  should  come  to  take 
possession  of  his  property.  As  she  went  through  the 
familiar  rooms,  and  arranged  and  re-arranged  the  fur- 
niture, she  had  time  to  think.  The  past  rose  before 
her — the  dark  repulsive  past.  She  had  been  young, 
but  it  was  so  long  ago — it  was  hardly  worth  her  while 
to  think  of  all  the  hopes  that  cheered  her  youth.  She 
was  married — and  her  husband's  love  shone  for  a 
brief  time  on  her  pathway;  too  soon,  alas!  to  be 
shadowed  by  the  dark  passions  of  her  absolute  master. 
Two  babes  had  nestled  -on  her  bosom,  and  they,  too, 
were  branded  with  her  humiliation. 

Now,  he  was  dead — he  would  curse  her  life  no 
longer.  Ha !  what  a  pang  came  with  that  half-uttered 
gratulation !  Dead — and  she  who  had  served  him  so 
faithfully — who  had  meekly  borne  his  wrathful  curses, 
and  patiently  endured  the  degradation  to  which  he 
had  reduced  her — she  to  whom  he  was  indebted  for 
all  the  comfort  his  home  had  known  for  years — who 
had  attended  him  by  day  and  night  till  the  grave 
closed  above  his  head — she  was  coolly  given  to  his 
nephew,  to  be  transported  hundreds  of  miles  away. 
How  her  great  eyes  flashed  at  the  thought,  as,  with 
her  hand  upraised,  in  the  solitary  room  where  her 
master  died,  she  swore  she  would  not  go  1 


MASTER  NATTIE'S  DEATH.  69 

Her  husband,  a  native  African,  named  Sam,  who 
still  spoke  but  broken  English,  was  soon  to  be  free, 
according  to  contract  with  his  importer.  Sam  had  the 
spirit  of  a  prince.  To  live  always  as  a  slave  he  would 
not  consent;  and,  lest  he  should  kill  himself  or  his 
master,  his  liberty  was  promised  him  at  a  stipulated 
time. 

Mary  was  fully  determined  that  she  would  never 
leave  him  nor  Lexington ;  and  when  in  the  December 
following  his  uncle's  death,  the  young  heir  came  from 
the  South  to  remove  his  goods,  and  desired  Aunt  Mary 
to  prepare  for  the  journey,  she  revolted.  They  might 
kill  her,  she  said,  but  she  would  not  go — she  indeed, 
would  hang  herself,  and  that  would  end  it. 

The  young  man  coaxed,  and  threatened,  but  in  vain. 
She  liked  Mars  Levi — everybody  liked  him — a  heap 
better  than  old  Massa ;  but  as  to  leaving  "  Kaintucky," 
and  going  away  to  the  South,  she  could  not. 

At  last,  finding  that  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to 
remove  her,  Master  Levi  sold  her,  with  her  two  boys, 
to  his  father, — and  she  was  left  to  spend  the  evening 
of  her  days  in  her  beloved  Lexington. 


CHAPTER    VII. 
THE   JOURNEY   TO    ALABAMA. 

*'  ON  a  cold  Sabbath,  morning,  December  20,  1818, 
Peter  started  with  Master  John  Gist,  a  younger  brother 
of  "  Mars  Levi,"  for  his  new  home  in  Alabama. 

He  wore  his  old  master's  broad-brimmed  hat,  and 
had  his  shot-gun  lashed  upon  his  back.  Miss  'Maltha, 
the  youngest  daughter  of  Master  William,  came  out 
just  as  they  started,  and.  with  a  kind  smile  gave  him  a 
handful  of  biscuits.  Heaven  bless  her  for  the  kindly 
thought !  The  memory  of  that  simple  gift  is  still 
warm  in  the  heart  of  him  who  was  then  but  a  poor 
slave-boy,  going  forth  to  meet  his  uncertain  fortunes 
amid  scenes  strange  and  new. 

The  farewells  were  all  said,  and  the  young  men  rode 
away — silently  at  first,  for  there  were  last  words  and 
affectionate  charges  from  his  parents,  still  ringing  in 
the  ears  of  Master  John ;  and  Peter's  heart  was  full. 

He  left  Lexington  with  few  regrets.  It  had  never 
seemed  to  him  like  home :  though  among  the  many 
families  in  which  he  had  served,  there  were  some  who 
had  treated  him  with  great  kindness.  Yet  the  memory 
of  his  mother  haunted  him,  and  a  sense  of  injustice  and 
wrong,  a  consciousness  that  he  had  been  stolen  from 
home,  and  that  the  power  to  which  he  had  been  forced 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  ALABAMA.         71 

to  submit  was  all  usurped,  prevented  his  forming  a 
strong  attachment  to  the  place  itself. 

Now  he  had  little  hope  of  ever  seeing  any  of  his 
kindred  except  the  dear  brother  that  had  gone  before  ; 
and  his  heart  grew  lighter,  as  hour  by  hour  the  dis- 
tance diminished  between  them.  Alfred  and  Allison, 
too,  he  soon  should  meet,  and  they  were  very  dear  to 
him — for  had  they  not  suffered  together  ? 

Then  came  a  heavy  sinking  of  the  heart  at  the 
thought,  that  he  must  thenceforth  be  exposed  to  all  the 
reputed  hardships  of  the  South.  The  constant  toil  in 
the  great  cotton  fields,  the  oppressive  heat,  the  danger 
of  fearful  sickness,  and  the  deeper  dread  of  cruel  over- 
seers— all  these  fell  upon  his  hopes  like  snow  upon  the 
violets  that  have  peeped  out  too  soon. 

And  oh!  if  after  all  these  years  his  parents  should 
come  in  search  of  their  children,  and  they  both  be 
gone !  No,  no !  he  would  not  think  of  .that — and  giv- 
ing old  master's  riding-horse  a  smart  cut  with  his  whip, 
he  galloped  on  to  overtake  Master  John. 

Hour  after  hour  the  youths  rode  side  by  side ;  now 
conversing  pleasantly  about  the  country  through  which 
they  were  passing,  or  reviewing  little  incidents  con- 
nected with  their  departure  from  home ;  and  again, 
their  thoughts  grew  busy,  and  forgot  to  shape  them- 
selves in  words.  Day  after  day  they  still  rode  on ; 
one  anticipating  a  pleasant  visit  with  his  brothers,  and 
a  speedy  return  to  all  the  endearments  of  a  happy 
home — the  other,  hopeful,  and  yet  half  afraid  to  meet 
his  destiny. 

They  spent  the  nights  at  houses  of  entertainment, 
which  they  found  scattered  here  and  there  along  the 
roadside.  At  these,  they  were  received  more  like 


72  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EANSOMED. 

family  visitors  than  guests  at  a  hotel.  Master  John 
sat  in  the  parlor  by  the  blazing  fire,  and  told  the  news 
from  Lexington  to  his  kind  host,  or  listened  to  the 
history  of  the  last  year's  crop.  Peter,  meanwhile,  in 
the  kitchen  made  himself  no  less  agreeable.  He  had 
come  from  town,  and  could  tell  wonders  to  his  less 
privileged  auditors,  who  had  seldom  been  out  of  sight 
of  home. 

The  travellers  arrived  at  Hopkinsville  on  Christmas 
morning.  Here  dwelt  Dr.  William  Teagarden,  whose 
wife  was  a  maternal  aunt  of  Master  John,  and  at  his 
house  they  spent  the  holidays. 

This  was  a  merry  time.  All  the  usual  .Christmas 
festivities  were  enjoyed,  and  Mrs.  Teagarden,  in  addition 
to  these,  gave  a  large  evening  party  in  compliment  to 
her  nephew. 

Here  Peter  had  a  fine  opportunity  to  display  his 
skill  and  grace  as  a  waiter,  and  so  highly  pleased  was 
Mrs.  Teagarden  with  his  expertness  in  this  vocation, 
that  she  made  several  efforts  during  the  next  three 
years,  to  purchase  him  of  his  young  master. 

"Look  yer,  Peter,"  said  a  gossiping  old  woman,  who 
stood  among  the  other  servants  just  outside  the  parlor- 
door,  and  who  had  been  watching  the  dancers  with  in- 
tense interest,  "  your  Mars  John  gwine  fall  in  love  wid 
dat  young  lady,  I  reckon.  How  you  like  her  for 
missus?" 

"What  young  lady  you  mean?  I  reckon  Mars 
John  ain't  in  no.  hurry  to  fall  in  love,  no  how." 

"Why,  Miss  Agnes  Keats.  Dar!  he's  leadin'  her 
to  a  cheer  by  her  sister,  Miss  Frances.  He's  danced 
a'most  all  night  wid  her,  and  'pears  like  he  thinks 
she's  mighty  perty." 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  ALABAMA.         73 

"  She  is  that,"  said  Peter,  "  does  her  father  live 
about  yer  ?" 

"'Yes,  he's  a  livin'  now;  but  he  come  mons's  nigh 
gwine  to  de  bad  man  where  he  'longs.  Didn't  you 
hear  'bout  it  in  Lex'n'ton  ?  He's  got  a  heap  o'  people 
on  dem  dar  two  big  plantations,  and  he  does  'em 
mighty  mean.  But  it  wasn't  none  o'  de  field  hands  'at 
killed  him." 

"  Killed  him  ?     You  said  he  was  a  livin'  now." 

"  So  I  did  ;  but  I'se  gwine  tell  you  how  he  kep' 
clar.  You  see,  he  allers  keeps  three  or  four  to  de 
home  place  to  wait  on  de  family — well,  he  was  dat 
mean  dey  couldn't  live  in  no  sort  o'  fashion ;  so  two 
big  men  what  staid  round  de  house  and  garden,  dey 
'trive  a  plan  to  get  enough  to  eat,  for  one  day,  least- 
ways. Dey  got  hold  de  gun,  and  when  de  ole  massa 
done  got  settle  nice  in  his  bed,  dey  ris  de  gun  up  on  cle 
winder  bottom,  and  pint  it  to  his  heart.  But  de  ole 
cook  Vomaii — she  hope  um,  lease  she  fotch  out  de  gun, 
an'  lef '  de  winder  open ;  .she  got  mighty  skeered  'bout 
her  missus,  and  kep'  tellin'  'em  all  de  time  dey's  fixin' 
de  gun,  'Now  min'  you  don't  hit  missus— keep  it  clar 
o'  missus. 

"  When  dey  got  all  fix,  dey  pull  dat  dar  trigger — 
Hi !  didn't  it  pop  ?  but  it  didn't  kill  de  ole  rnassa — 
struck  his  ribs,  I  reckon.  Well,  de  minute  de  ole 
cook  'voman  year  de  gun,  she  lif '  up  her  hands  and 
fotch  a  big  scream.  '  O  Lor' !  I'll  lay  you's  done  kill 
missus,  now!' 

"  Every  person  on  de  place  year  dat  yell,  and  all 
come  a  runnin'  to  see  who's  kill." 

"  What  'come  of  the  men?"  asked  Peter,  his  blood 
chilled  at  the  thought  of  the  horrid  deed.      ';  "! 
A. 


74  THE    KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

"  De  men — 0  dey  's  hung.  Dey  had  a  little  court ; 
did  n't  take  long  to  prove  dey's  guilty,  kase  you  see 
dey  got  cotch,  so  dey  hung  'em  mons's  quick." 

"  Did  they  hang  the  'oman,  too?" 

"  No,  dey  sol'  her  way  off  to  de  Coas'.  Reckon  she 
won't  never  hope  no  more  sich  work  as  dat.  'Pears 
like,  it's  mighty  hard  to  have  sich  a  mean  massa  as  ole 
Keats,  but  it's  a  heap  wuss  to  try  dis  yer  killin'  busi- 
ness. De  Lor'  don't  'low  dat  dar,  no  how. 

"  Dar !  dat  set's  up.  Mars  John  gwine  lead  Miss 
Agnes  up  for  de  nex'.  How  nice  dat  pa'r  does  look?" 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  of  January,  Master 
John  and  Peter  resumed  their  journey  southward. 
They  spentwone  night  at  Nashville,  and  one  at  Colum- 
bia, Tenn.,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  sixth,  at  eleven 
o'clock,  they  reached  Bainbridge. 

Peter's  heart  beat  fast  as  he  approached  the  spot  that 
was  thenceforth  to  be  his  home.  Everything  he  saw 
looked  strange  and  uncouth.  The  town,  if  such  indeed 
it  might  be  called,  consisted  of  about  thirty  small  log 
cabins,  scattered  here  and  there  among  the  tall  old 
forest  trees.  •  Groups  of  white-haired,  sallow-skinned 
children  were  playing  about  the  doors,  or  peeping 
slyly  at  the  strange  gentleman  as  he  passed.  Now  and 
then,  between  the  trees,  were  seen  the  bright  waters 
of  the  Tennessee  sparkling  in  the  sunlight ;  but  even 
they  pursued  their  pleasant  way  in  silence,  as  if  re- 
luctant to  disturb  the  quiet  of  the  place. 

"Well,  Peter,"  said  Master  John,  "this  is  Bain- 
bridge — how  do  you  like  the  looks  of  the  place?" 

"Looks  like  'taint  a  town,  Mars  John;  I  never 
knowed  folks  have  a  town  in  the  woods." 

Oh !  the  woods  will  be  gone  in  a  few  years.     Don't 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  ALABAMA.         75 

you  see,  many  of  these  trees  are  dead  now  ?     They  ^ 
girdle  them  that  way,  and  the  next  year  they  die." 

"  Whar's  the  store  ?  Mars  Levi  say  he  got  a  store 
yer." 

"  Yonder  it  is — where  that  gentleman  is  sitting  on 
the  porch  ?" 

"  That  the  store!  Don't  look  no  bigger'n  a  kitchen ! 
Whar  Mars  Levi  live?" 

"  Here  we  are  at  his  house,  now."  Master  John 
sprang  to  the  ground,  and  gave  his  horse  to  Peter, 
who  with  wondering  eyes,  was  looking  toward  the 
house. 

He  could  hardly  believe  that  those  two  log  cabins, 
with  an  open  passage  between  them,  constituted  Mas- 
ter Levi's  residence  in  Alabama.  "  Ha !"  thought  he, 
"ole  Mars  Nattie  say,  they  all  gwine  get  rich  out  yer. 
What  he  say  now,  if  he  see  his  young  gentlemen 
alivin'  in  a  cabiii  in  the  woods  among  pore  white 
folks." 

He  followed  Master  John  into  the  house.  No  one 
was  there.  They  went  on  to  the  kitchen,  and  with  an 
exclamation  of  joy,  old  Aunt  Peggy  ran  forth  to  meet 
them.  "Mars  Levi  gone  out  huntin',"  said  she,  "but 
I  reckon  Mars  Andrew  in  de  store — he's  dar  mostly. 
0,  I's  so  glad  to  see  somebody  from  de  ole  place !" 

"  Dar  Peter !"  cried  she,  as  the  sound  of  wheels  was 
heard,  "dar's  my  ole  man  with  his  wagon;  he's  gwine 
to  de  mill  whar  de  boys  is  all  to  work." 

A  moment  more,  and  Peter  was  in  the  wagon  be- 
side old  Frank,  hastening  to  the  embrace  of  his  brother 
Levin.  He  could  hardly  wait  to  answer  all  the  old 
man's  questions  about  home,  and  the  dear  friends  he 
had  left  behind. 


76  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

Very  joyful  was  the  meeting  between  the  brothers. 
Few  were  the  words*  they  uttered — their  hearts  were 
too  full  for  speech.  Alfred  and  Allison,  too,  were 
there  ;  the  little  group  of  true  friends  was  once  more 
complete. 

After  two  weeks  spent  about  the  house,  in  assisting 
Aunt  Peggy  to  cook,  and  in  forming  a  general  ac- 
quaintance with  the  premises,  Peter  was  sent  to  the 
cotton  field. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 
FIRST    FOUR   YEARS    IN   THE     SOUTH. 

HERE  a  new  world  opened  before  the  young  slave. 
The  brick-yards  in  which  his  boyhood  was  spent,  the 
fields  of  corn,  tobacco,  and  hemp,  around  Lexington, 
presented  no  picture  that  could  equal  this.  Far  away 
stretched  the  brown  plain,  covered  with  the  frosted 
cotton  shrubs.  Here  and  there  stood  a  girdled  forest 
tree,  leafless  and  grim,  yet  mighty  in  its  very  desolate- 
ness.  Gloomily  .its  wasted  shadow  fell  across  the  path- 
way trod  by  its  destroyers,  like  the  mysterious  dread 
of  ill  that  ever  haunts  the  footsteps  of  the  guilty. 

The  crop  was  now  about  half  picked  out.  The  busi- 
ness was  all  new  to  Peter,  and  though  it  did  not  look 
difficult,  yet  he  worked  diligently  all  day,  and  at  night 
had  only  twelve  pounds  and  a  half.  The  other  boys 
were  greatly  amused  at  his  awkwardness,  and  played 
many  jokes  upon  him,  telling  him  he  must  first  break 
off  the  boll,  and  then  pick  out  the  cotton. 

At  night,  when  Master  Andrew  weighed  the  cotton, 
he  told  them  he  would  give  a  new  pair  of  shoes  to  the 
one  who  would  pick  fifty  pounds  the  next  day.  Alli- 
son was  nearly  barefoot,  and  he  worked  hard  for  the 
prize,  but  in  vain.  Peter,  however,  had  learned  wis- 
dom from  one  day's  failure,  and,  to  the  surprise  of  all, 

[77] 


78  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

he  had  at  night,  seventy -five  pounds.  After  this,  he 
was  seldom  excelled  in  the  cotton  field.  His  fingers 
were  long  and  nimble,  and  he  could  pluck  the  fleecy 
treasure  from  the  frost-browed  boll  almost  without 
effort. 

Bainbridge,  though  mainly  settled  by  poor  people, 
who  gained  a  scanty  subsistence  by  hunting  and  fishing, 
was  at  that  time  surrounded  by  the  estates  of  wealthy 
planters.  Some  of  these  were  of  good  Virginia  or 
Carolina  families,  but  more  were  ignorant  and  vulgar 
men ;  overseers,  or  even  negro  traders,  formerly,  who 
had  gained  wealth  in  these  refined  pursuits,  and  were 
thereby  entitled  to  stand  in  the  ranks  of  the  aristocracy 
of  North  Alabama. 

The  store  of  the  Messrs.  Gist  was  a  favorite  resort  of 
these  neighboring  planters.  It  contained  not  only  the 
usual  assortment  of  dry  goods,  groceries,  &c.,  with 
which  country  stores  are  usually  supplied,  but  what 
was  more  essential  to  the  social  enjoyment  of  the  gen- 
tlemen there  congregated,  excellent  liquors  of  every 
kind.  There  too,  was  the  Post  Office;  and  to  the 
patriots  of  Bainbridge  there  was  never  lack  of  interest 

in  the  great  subjects  of  politics,  and the  cotton 

market.  Upon  these  they  conversed  day  after  day,  as 
they  sat  on  the  porch  at  the  store  door,  and  night  after 
night  the  discussions  warmed,  as  the  brandied  flush 
crept  over  cheek  and  brow  of  the  staunch  vindicators 
of  their  different  party  chiefs.  Sometimes,  indeed  the 
arguments  ran  so  high  that  the  disputants  went  home 
with  visages  slightly  disfigured  by  contact  with  oppos- 
ing fists ;  but  these  wounds  soon  healed,  and  over  a 
bottle  of  good  old  wine,  such  trifling  episodes  were 
quite  forgotten. 


FIRST  FOUR   YEARS   IN  THE   SOUTH.  79 

For  two  years,  this  little  family  quietly  pursued  the 
regular  avocations  of  the  farm.  They  made  excellent 
crops  in  proportion  to  the  number  of  hands  employed ; 
and  the  business  of  the  store  was  at  the  same  time  very 
lucrative.  The  brothers  bought  and  shipped  cotton, 
corn,  and  bacon,  and  kept  for  sale,  at  a  good  profit,  all 
kinds  of  goods  that  were  required  by  their  various 
customers. 

During  the  winter  the  slaves  had  many  opportunities 
of  earning  pocket  money.  Flat-boats  loaded  with  cotton, 
while  coming  down  the  river,  were  frequently  stove  on 
the  rocks  in  the  Muscle  Shoals,  at  the  foot  of  which  Bain- 
bridge  is  situated.  The  cotton,  becoming  wet,  was  thus 
rendered  unfit  for  market,  unless  the  bales  were  opened 
and  thoroughly  dried.  This  furnished  employment 
for  the  negroes  on  Sundays.  Carefully  they  spread 
the  damp  cotton  on  boards  or  rocks  in  the  sunshine, 
turning  and  shaking  it  frequently  till  it  was  perfectly 
dry,  and  fit  to  be  repacked  in  bales  for  market.  For 
this  labor,  they  sometimes  received  a  dollar  a  day — 
thus  supplying  themselves  with  the  means  of  procuring 
many  little  comforts. 

In  the  year  1821,  Mr.  Levi  Gist  bought  a  plantation 
of  four  hundred  and  eighty  acres,  about  seven  miles 
south  of  his  home.  He  also  built  a  large  brick  house 
in  Bainbridge,  the  lower  story  of  which  he  intended 
to  occupy  as  a  store.  In  the  fall  of  this  .year,  he  re- 
moved all  his  servants,  except  Peter,  to  the  new  plant- 
ation. Him  he  retained  to  wait  on  himself,  and  on 
the  beautiful  young  bride  whom  he  brought  home  in 
December. 

This  lady,  whose  generous  and  uniform  kindness  to 
himself  Peter  still  delights  to  remember,  was  Miss 


80  THE    KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

Tliirmutliis  Waters,  formerly  of  Nashville.  She  had 
come  out  to  Alabama  the  previous  spring  with  her 
sister,  Mrs.  McKiernan,  who,  with  her  husband,  had 
settled  on  a  plantation  near  that  recently  purchased  by 
Mr.  Gist. 

Peter  had  now  to  perform  the  duties  of  cook,  house- 
maid, and  waiter,  there  being  no  other  servant  in  the 
house,  except  a  little  boy  about  twelve  years  old,  that 
assisted  him  in  performing  some  of  the  lighter  labors. 

These  were  the  brightest  days  that  had  ever  fallen 
to  the  lot  of  the  young  slave.  His  time  was  all  occu- 
pied, but  he  succeeded  in  performing  his  various  duties 
to  the  satisfaction  of  his  mistress,  and  he  felt  not  the 
want  of  leisure.  Her  approving  smile  shed  sunshine 
on  his  lowly  path  and  her  gentle  kindness  filled  his 
heart  with  gratitude. 

Now,  but  for  the  one  cloud  that  shadowed  his  spirit, 
he  would  have  enjoyed  comparative  content.  But  the 
thought  of  his  mother  far  away,  who  could  never  hear 
from  him,  and  whom  now  he  might  not  hope  to  see, 
isolated  him,  in.  some  sense,  from  his  companions  in 
bonds.  It  is  true,  that  no  intelligent  slave  can  feel  that 
his  thraldom  is  just,  because  his  mother  was,  perforce, 
a  chattel ;  and  yet,  the  knowledge  that  he  was  born  a 
slave,  like  those  he  sees  around  him,  and  the  total 
ignorance  of  a  different  structure  of  society,  go  far 
to  reconcile  the  unfortunate  bondman  to  his  lot. 

A  few  weeks  after  the  wedding,  Mr.  Gist  accom- 
panied his  bride  and  her  sister,  Mrs.  McKiernan,  on  a 
visit  to  their  friends  in  Nashville. 

The  journey — one  hundred  and  twenty  miles — was 
performed  on  horseback  ;  and  as  the  party  rode  away 
through  the  woods  on  a  fine  January  morning,  they 


FIRST  FOUR  YEARS  IN   THE   SOUTH.  81 

formed  a  beautiful  group.  Mr.  Gist — a  well-formed 
Kentuckian — his  fine  brown  features  enlivened  by 
splendid  .black  eyes,  and  glowing  with  health  find 
vigor,  rode  proudly  at  his  lady's  side.  She  was  very 
beautiful.  Her  large,  dark  eyes  sparkled  with  anima- 
tion, and  her  tall,  erect  figure,  and  graceful  dignity  of 
carriage,  rendered  her,  in  her  husband's  eyes,  an  em- 
bodiment of  womanly  perfection. 

Near  the  fair  bride  rode  her  sister — a  graceful,  ma- 
tronly lady,  several  years  her  senior,  whose  slight, 
delicate  figure  presented  a  marked  contrast  to  her  own 
queenly  proportions. 

At  the  distance  of  a  few  paces  followed  Peter,  and 
while  he  gazed  admiringly  at  the  dear  forms  of  his 
young  master  and  mistress,  he  was  far  from  being  for- 
getful of  his  own  fine  points.  He  was  now  nearly 
twenty-one,  and  his  pleasant,  lively  face,  and  obliging 
manners,  won  him  friends  wherever  he  went.  Then, 
his  new  suit  was  very  becoming,  and  he  rode  as  fine  a 
horse  as  he  could  wish.  Not  one  of  the  party  was 
better  mounted. 

He  was  proud,  too,  of  his  young  master,  and  deter- 
mined, in  his  own  mind,  that  the  Nashville  folks  should 
be  impressed  with  the  dignity  and  consequence  of  the 
family  into  which  Miss  Thirmuthis  had  married. 

Swiftly  flew  the  two  weeks  of  their  stay  in  Nash- 
ville. Several  parties  were  given  to  the  young  couple 
by  the  family  and  friends  of  the  bride,  and  before  the 
plans  which  their  friends  had  formed  for  their  pleasure 
were  half  accomplished,  the  time  that  they  had  allotted 
to  the  visit  was  spent,  and  they  were  obliged  to  set  out 
upon  their  return. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-one,  Peter  began  to  think 
4* 


82  THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  T1IE   RANSOMED. 

more  seriously  than  lie  had  ever  thought  before,  of 
establishing  a  character  for  life.  He  saw  the  moral 
1  degradation  that  prevailed  among  those  of  his  own 
color,  and  he  could  not  but  discover  that  many  of  their 
masters  failed  to  keep  themselves  pure.  The  vulgar 
and  blasphemous  oath,  the  obscene  jest,  and  the  harsh 
tone  of  angry  passion,  he  often  heard  proceeding  from 
the  lips  of  gentlemen; — yes,  even  the  low  jargon  of 
drunkenness  was  not  seldom  uttered  by  the  lordly 
master  of  scores  of  crouching  slaves. 

All  this  the  young  man  saw,  and  heard — and 
loathed;  and  now  that  he  had  reached  the  age  of 
manhood,  he  resolved  to  shun  the  insidious  advances 
of  every  vice.  He  abandoned  the  use  of  tobacco, 
which  he  had  commenced  when  but  a  boy ;  and  though 
he  had  sometimes  taken  a  dram  with  his  companions, 
he  determined  that  he  would  thenceforth  touch  no  in- 
toxicating drink.  '  Thereafter,  profanity  dwelt  not  upon 
his  lips,  and  falsehood  was  a  stranger  to  his  tongue. 
His  character  for  integrity  and  honesty  became  firmly 
established,  and  though  but  a  slave,  he  won  the  entire 
confidence  of  all  with  whom  he  was  connected.* 

"With  these  noble  resolves  of  his  opening  manhood, 
came  ardent  desires  for  freedom.  He  reviewed  his 
past  life — there"was  nothing  there — in  feeling,  thought, 
or  act — that  proved  him  unfit  for  liberty.  The  curse 
of  slavery  had  embittered  his  heart,  and  with  every 
power  of  his  soul  aroused,  he  resolved  that  he  would 
struggle  to  escape  it.  By  flight  or  purchase — some 


*  Of  Peter's  integrity  and  honesty,  the  writer  speaks  from  per- 
sonal knowledge ;  having  been  acquainted  with  him  for  several 
years  of  his  slave-life  in  Alabama. 


FIEST   FOUR  YEARS   IN    TI1E   SOUTH.  83 

means  must  offer — lie  would  yet  win  back  his  human 
birthright. 

With  this  goal  of  all  his  hopes,  somewhere  in  the 
hidden  future,  he  pursued  his  daily  round  of  humble 
duties — patiently  waiting  till  he  should  perceive  some 
opening  in  the  dense,  dark  cloud  that  enveloped  his 
fate. 

In  October,  1822,  Mr.  Gist  relinquished  his  share  in 
the  store  to  his  brother,  who  had  been  his  partner; 
and  removing  to  the  plantation,  devoted  his  whole 
attention  to  agricultural  pursuits. 

Here  they  lived  in  true  Southern  country  style. 
The  "  great  house"  on  the  plantation  consisted  of  two 
cabins,  built  of  hewn  logs,  and  whitewashed  within  and 
without  with  lime.  A  covered  passage  connected  the 
rooms,  over  each  of  which  was  a  small,  low  chamber. 
A  log  kitchen  and  smoke-house  in  the  rear,  with  the 
usual  potato-house,  saddle-house,  and  other  small,  shed- 
like  buildings,  each  appropriated  to  the  shelter  of  a 
single  article  or  class,  completed  the  establishment. 

At  dawn  of  day,  the  master  was  up  and  away  with 
his  hounds  to  the  woods,  and  woe  to  the  unlucky  fox 
or  rabbit  whose  trail  they  chanced  to  discover. 

The  overseer,  meantime,  marshalled  his  forces  ;  and 
as  there  were  so  few  hands  on  the  plantation,  he  was, 
by  his  contract  with  the  master,  obliged  to  take-  his 
hoe  and  work  with  them. 

The  domestic  arrangement  of  the  household  was 
perfect.  The  young  mistress  was  fond  of  order  and 
regularity ;  and,  through  her  kind  and  constant  disci- 
pline, those  desirable  qualities  soon  became  manifest 
in  the  habits  of  her  servants. 


84:  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

Thus,  on  the  plantation  of  young  master  Levi,  peace 
and  happiness  established  their  dominion.  One  ac- 
quainted with  the  neighborhood  in  which  he  lived, 
would  have  pronounced  his  place  an  oasis  in  the  de- 
sert— a  solitary  star  in  a  midnight  sky. 


CHAPTER    IX. 
LEVIN'S     MARRIAGE. 

IT  is  a  pleasant  Sabbath  evening  in  early  spring. 
The  air  is  filled  with  perfume  from  hosts  of  new  made 
flowers,  and  vocal  with  the  merry  notes  of  birds. 

Master  Levi  rises  from  his  seat  on  the  porch,  and 
walks  slowly  to  and  fro  in  the  yard.  He  is  stouter 
and  handsomer  than  he  was  two  years  ago,  when  he 
came  out  on  the  farm  to  live.  Aye,  and  happier  too ; 
for  the  lovely  little  Mary,  that  stretches  out  her  tiny 
hands  towards  her  papa,  and  sweetly  lisps  his  name, 
has  unsealed  a  new  fountain  of  joy  in  his  bosom. 

Yes,  he  is  happy  and  prosperous.  His  crops  all 
look  well,  and  his  negroes  are  healthy  and  obedient. 

"  0  mass'r !"  says  a  voice  at  his  side.  He  turns.  It 
is  Levin.  He  has  grown  tall  and  manly  since  we  re- 
marked him  last — of  course,  for  he  is  now  about 
twenty -five  years  old,  and  a  fine  stout  fellow. 

"Well,  Levin,  what  do  you  want?"  responds  the 
master.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  O,  nuthin's  the  matter,  sir ;  only  I  wanted  to  ax 
you  if  you's  willin'  I  should  get  married,  sir." 

"Get  married?  Why,  yes — you're  old  enough,  I 
suppose — over  twenty,  aren't  you  ? 

"Yes,  sir,  I's  twenty-five." 

[88] 


86  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

"  Well,  where's  tlie  girl  you  want  to  marry  ?  You 
can  have  a  wife  as  soon  as  you  wish,  if  you  will  get 
one  of  the  right  sort." 

"  I  wants  Fanny  Hogun,  sir ;  and  ole  Mars  Jimmy, 
he  say  I  may  have  her  if  you's  willin',  sir." 

"  Fanny  Hogun  !  Old  Jimmy  Hogun's  Fanny  ! 
The  very  worst  place  in  the  neighborhood  for  a  fellow 
to  be  running  I  Fanny — let  me  see — her  mother's 
Linsey,  old  Jimmy's  housekeeper — a  regular  she-devil. 
"What  put  into  your  stupid  head  to  go  there  to  hunt 
for  a  wife?  No,  you  can't  have  Fanny.  You  may 
have  a  wife,  and  welcome ;  but  no  boy  of  mine  shall 
be  spending  his  nights  and  Sundays  at  old  Jimmy 
Hogun's — d'ye  hear  ?" 

"  But,  mass'r,  Fanny's  a  good  girl,  and  'pears  like 
'twont  do  no  hurt  to  go  and  see  her,  sir.  I  don't  want 
nary  nother  wife,  sir." 

"  But  I  tell  you,  Levin,  I  can't  let  one  of  my  boys 
have  a  wife  at  such  a  place  as  that.  So  don't  talk 
any  more  about  it.  You  can  hunt  up  another  girl 
that  will  suit  you  better." 

Poor  Levin  walked  away.  He  was  sadly  disap- 
pointed. He  knew  his  master  had  good  cause  for 
disliking  to  have  his  people  associate  with  old  Jimmy 
Hogun's  negroes ;  but  he  and  Fanny  loved  each  other 
so  dearly  that  he  could  not  give  her  up. 

Mr.  James  Hogun  was  a  bachelor — an  eccentric 
man — silent  and  unsociable.  He  was  seldom  seen 
from  home,  even  within  the  circle  of  his  own  family 
connections.' 

But  though  as  an  individual,  he  was  little  known, 
his  place  was  famed  in  all  the  country  around  as  the 
scene  of  most  disgraceful  proceedings.  No  white 


LEVIN'S   MABRIAGE.  ,  87 

woman  inhabited  tlie  premises,  but  many  beautiful 
slave  girls  embellished  his  demesne.  Here  "patrol- 
lers"  and  other  wild  and  reckless  characters  were  wont 
to  resort  at  night,  and,  free  from  all  restraint,  to  give 
the  rein  to  every  evil  passion. 

All  this  was  well  known  to  Levin — but  Fanny,  he 
was  sure,  was  not  like  her  companions.  She  was  good 
and  true,  and  she  loved  him. 

He  disliked  exceedingly  to  offend  his  master  who 
had  always  been  so  kind  to  him,  and  yet  he  could  not 
decide  to  sacrifice  his  deepest,  truest  affection.  For 
some  time  he  hesitated,  but  at  last  love  conquered; 
and  without  the  approbation  of  his  master,  he  took 
the  lively  Fanny  for  his  wife. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gist  were  both  displeased.  They  had 
reasoned  with  Levin,  and  sought  by  every  kind  method 
to  dissuade  him  from  this  measure,  and  his  disobedi- 
ence gave  them  real  pain. 

Levin  had  hoped  that,  once,  married,  all  his  troubles 
would  be  past,  but  he  soon  ascertained  that  they  had 
but  just  commenced. 

He  could  seldom  go  to  see  his  wife,  for  the  overseer, 
aware  that  his  master  was  opposed  to  his  going,  placed 
every  possible  impediment  in  his  way.  Once,  indeed, 
he  went  so  far,  the  day  after  one  of  these  stolen  visits, 
as  to  strip  him  and  tie  him  up,  intending  to  whip  him 
well.  The  master,  however,  forbade  the  execution  of 
this  design,  and  the  disappointed  ruffian  could  only 
avenge  his  wounded  pride  by  crushing  his  intended 
victim  with  heaps  of  curses.  _.,;,:? 

But  when  Fanny  dared  to  come  to  see  her  husband, 
she  was  under  no  such  friendly  protection.  In  vain 
Levin  begged  that  she  might  be  spared,  and  threatened 


88  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

to  tell  his  master.  The  overseer  knew  that  Mr.  Gist 
did  not  favor  her  visits,  and  as  he  seldom  had  an  op- 
portunity to  exercise  his  disciplinary  talents,  now — 
"  Crist  was  so  devilish  careful  of  his  niggers" — he  could 
ill  afford  to  lose  such  opportunities  for  sport. 

Soon  after  his  marriage,  Levin's  health  failed,  ^,nd 
he  became  unable  to  continue  his  labors  in  the  field. 
He  could,  however,  do  light  work,  and  his  mistress 
took  him  into  the  house. 

His  master  now  renewed  his  efforts  to  persuade  him 
to  refrain  from  visiting  his  wife,  but  all  in  vain.  His 
love  for  Fanny  was  warm  and  true,  and  no  argument 
could  move  him. 

Mr.  Gist's  patience  at  length  gave  way.  His  anger 
rose.  He  would  not  thus  be  baffled  by  a  servant — he 
would  force  him  to  obey  his  wishes !  He  accordingly 
bound  the  astonished  slave,  and  whipped  him  severely. 
Three  hundred  and  seventeen  lashes  fell  upon  his 
naked  back. 

A  little  later,  and  the  maker's  passion  had  subsided. 
He  was  astonished  at  himself.  Kemorse  and  bitter 
sorrow  filled  his  heart ;  and  with  his  own  brave  frank- 
ness he  confessed — even  to  the  victim  of  his  wrath — 
that  he  had  done  a  grievous  wrong.  "  I  have  acted 
hastily,"  said  he,  "  while  in  a  passion,  and  I  am  very 
sorry." 

After  this  no  force  was  used  to  prevent  the  inter- 
course of  the  true-hearted  pair,  but  they  were  per- 
mitted peaceably  to  enjoy  their  transient  visits  to  each 
other. 


CHAPTER    X. 
VINA!S    EARLY    HISTORY. 

IN  Edgecombe  county,  1ST.  C.,  about  seven  miles  from 
Tarboro',  lived  a  respectable  planter,  named  William 
Foxall.  He  was  handsome  in  person,  and  in  manners 
most  agreeable ;  a  kind  master,  and  a  true-hearted 
friend. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  speak — 1817 — he  was  a 
widower  with  two  children.  The  eldest,  a  lovely  and 
accomplished  young  lady,  named  Mary  Ann,  the  fruit 
of  his  first  marriage^  resided  with  her  father ;  but  the 
little  boy,  a  final  parting  gift  from  his  last  wife,  was 
adopted  by  her  grandmother  immediately  after  her 
daughter's  death. 

Mr.  Foxall  was  not  a  wealthy  man ;  indeed  he  had 
never  been  ambitious  to  accumulate  great  riches.  He 
had  chosen  rather  to  live  in  the  enjoyment  of  the 
competency  bequeathed  him  by  his  ancestors,  and  to 
leave  it,  together  with  an  untarnished  name,  as  an 
inheritance  to  his  children. 

But  the  quiet  he  had  chosen  was  destined  to  be 
interrupted  by  the  entreaties  of  an  old  schoolmate,  who 
had  resided  for  a  few  years  in  Lawrence  county, 
Alabama. 

This  gentleman,  whose  name  was  Allen,  wrote  fre- 
quently to  Mr.  Foxall,  and  always  begged  him  to  sell 

[80] 


90  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   KANSOMED. 

what  lie  termed  his  meagre  old  plantation,  and  to  come 
to  the  Tennessee  Valley.  "Here,"  said  he,  "you  will 
find  a  country  beautiful  by  nature,  and  rich  as  beauti- 
ful. The  soil  seems  eager  to  yield  its  increase,  and 
wealth  waits  but  the  planter's  bidding.  Come  to  this 
charming  valley,  where,  with  the  forces  now  at  your 
command,  a  few  years'  crops  will  make  you  indepen- 
dent, and  insure  wealth  to  your  children  after  you  are 
gone." 

The  alluring  prospect  tempted  even  the  unambitious 
Foxall ;  and  he  sold  his  old  plantation,  endeared  as  it 
was  to  him  by  a  thousand  tender  associations.  His 
servants,"  old  and  young,  he  resolved  to  take  with  him. 

Among  these,  there  was  one  woman  named  Sally, 
who,  with  her  three  children,  properly  belonged  to  his 
daughter;  she  having  been  given  to  the  first  Mrs. 
Foxall  on  her  marriage. 

Sally  was  an  excellent  servant,  and  devotedly  at- 
tached to  her  young  mistress.  She  had  waited  on  her 
departed  mother  when  she  too  was  a  blooming  maiden, 
and  had  arrayed  her  in  her  bridal  robes.  All  her  cares 
and  sorrows  she  had  shared ;  and  when  their  beloved 
mistress  was  passing  away,  she  it  was  that  smoothed 
the  dying  pillow,  and  folded  the  meek  hands  to  their 
long  repose. 

Then  the  deep  love  of  her  nature  was  transferred  to 
the  sweet  infant  left  wholly  to  her  care ;  and  though 
when  her  own  children  were  born,  a  new  fount  of 
tenderness  was  opened  in  her  heart,  it  was  scarce 
deeper  than  that  which  had  welled  forth  for  the 
motherless  babe  she  had  cherished. 

Her  own  poor  children,  arias !  were  now  fatherless — 
though  death  had  spared  the  husband  of  her  love. 


VINA'S   EARLY   HISTORY.  91 

His  name  was  Silas ;  and  his  owner,  a  Mr.  Sisson, 
lived  a  few  miles  from  Mr.  Foxall's  plantation.  Silas 
was  a  carpenter,  a  fine  energetic  fellow,  and  was  highly 
esteemed  by  his  owner.  He  was  also  full  of  affection 
for  his  wife  and  babes ;  and  was  unhappy  only  when 
by  some  arrangement  beyond  his  control,  he  was  pre- 
vented from  enjoying  their  society  at  the  stated  season. 

When  the  youngest  of  his  three  children  was  but  an 
infant,  a  branch  of  the  Sisson  family  removed  to  Ala- 
bama, and  as  they  would  be  obliged  on  arriving  there 
to  build  themselves  a  house,  they  took  Silas  with  them. 

Sad  was  his  heart  when  he  came  to  say  "  Good  bye" 
to  Sally  and  her  little  ones,  but  he  was  hopeful.  He 
was  not  sold;  and  when  the  new  house  should  be  built 
in  that  strange  wild  place  where  they  were  going,  he 
could  return.  They  would  not  keep  him  there,  away 
from  all  he  loved — ah,  no ! 

But  a  year  passed,  and  no  permission  came  for  Silas 
to  return  to  the  old  place.  He  had  been  patient,  but 
his  endurance  could  not  last  forever ;  and  one  night, 
when  all  was  still  about  the  new  house  he  had  built, 
lie  rose  up  quietly,  and  bade  a  silent  farewell  to  the 
kind  friends  that  seemed  so  unwilling  to  let  him  go. 

He  was  not  long  in  returning  to  his  old  home,  and 
there  he  spent  one  more  happy  year.  His  little  chil- 
dren learned  to  watch  for  his  coming,  and  Sally's  eyes 
regained  their  wonted  brilliancy. 

Ah!  when  he  had  ceased  to  fear,  then  was  his 
danger  nearest.  The  man  from  whom  he  had  fled 
came  again,  and  carried  him  away  in  heavy  chains. 

Where  he  was  conveyed,  his  wife  knew  not.  Only 
once  more  she  saw  his  face%  After  she  had  for  months 
deplored  his  sad  fate,  he  came  to  see  her.  Three  days 


92  THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   KANSOMED. 

Ms  "pass"  allowed  him  to  remain  with  her.  How 
swiftly  did  they  pass  ? 

He  had  been  working  at  his  trade,  he  said,  but  they 
were  about  to  send  him  to  the  Potomac  river,  to  be 
employed  upon  a  boat;  and  when  he  could  come 
again,  he  did  not  know. 

Never  more  did  Sally's  eye  rest  upon  the  form  of 
her  husband;  never  more  did  his  pleasant  voice  delight 
her  ear.  Year  after  year  she  watched  for  his  coming, 
till  her  heart  grew  sick  with  waiting,  and  she  knew 
that  she  must  give  him  up. 

At.  last,  the  news  that  the  Foxall  family  was  about 
to  remove  to  Alabama,  reached  his  ears,  and  though 
he  could  not  visit  his  dear  ones,  he  found  an  opportu- 
nity to  send  them  some  little  presents,  as  farewell  tokens 
of  his  love. 

The  grandparents  of  Miss  Foxall  insisted  that  if  her 
father  went  to  Alabama,  she  should  remain  with  them. 
That  rude  new  country  would  be  no  place  for  her,  des- 
titute as  she  was  of  a  mother's  care ;  and  though  Mr. 
Foxall  longed  for  her  cheering  presence,  he  felt  that 
they  were  light ;  and  with  a  father's  blessing,  he  left 
his  daughter  to  their  guardianship. 

Sally,  too,  and  her  children,  should  have  remained, 
but  he  needed  all  his  forces  to  make  his  first  crop ;  and 
as  he  promised  to  send  them  back  when  he  should  be 
able  to  dispense  with  their  services,  his  daughter  and 
her  friends  consented  to  his  taking  them. 

Sally's  oldest  child  was  named  Jerry.  He  was  a 
fine  healthy  boy,  nine  years  old.  Lavinia,  or  Vina,  as 
she  was  usually  called,  was  seven,  and  Quail,  the 
youngest,  a  bright  merry  b<^,  was  nearly  five.  These 
were  the  light  of  her  eyes ;  and  though  she  grieved  at 


VINA'S-EAKLY  HISTORY.  93 

the  thought  of  parting  with  her  young  mistress,  and 
wondered  who  would  now  perform  for  her  all  the  little 
services  that  had  never  yet  been  entrusted  to  less  care- 
ful hands  than  hers,  yet  she  felt  that,  so  long  as  she 
could  keep  all  her  own  children  with  her,  she  should 
not  repine. 

Dr.  Allen,  the  friend  who  had  urged  Mr.  Foxall's 
emigration,  was  settled  near  Courtland,  Lawrence 
county.  Here  he  had  a  fine  plantation,  and  his  friend 
bought  one  adjoining.  Then  with  the  idea  that  they 
could  thus  work  their  hands  to  better  advantage,  they 
entered  into  partnership,  working  all  the  land  together, 
and  sharing  equally  the  profits. 

Year  after  year  passed  in  his  new  home;  yet  the 
bright  visions  of  wealth  that  had  enticed  Mr.  Foxall 
thitherward,  vanished  into  thin  air. 

Not  that  his  friend  had  exaggerated  the  fertility  of 
the  soil,  or  any  other  of  the  peculiar  natural  advantages 
of  the  beautiful  valley  in  which  he  had  settled.  No ; 
the  rich  bottom  lands  near  the  river  teemed  with  vege- 
tation, and  the  broad  plains  for  miles  back  brought 
forth  abundant  crops.  Nature's  work  was  all  perfect ; 
and  the  laborers  performed  their  duty  well. 

Cotton  was  "made"  and  sold;  and  corn,  in  quanti- 
ties that  astonished  the  Carolinians,  who  had  all  their 
lives  been  accustomed  to  tilling  a  less  prolific  soil. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this  apparent  prosperity,  the 
coffers  of  the  planters  were  not  full ;  and  as  years  passed 
on,  though  crops  were  regularly  gathered  in  and  sold, 
great  debts  accumulated,  and  ruin  stared  them  in  the 
face. 

Ah,  William  Foxall !  could  you  hope  to  grow  rich, 


94  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

when  your  fortune  was  linked  with  that  of  a  drunkard 
and  a  gambler  ? 

With  the  cowardice  characteristic  of  the  votaries  of 
dissipation,  Dr.  Allen,  when  he  saw  that  a  crash  was 
inevitable,  privately  quitted  the  country,  leaving  his 
partner  to  endure  alone  the  consequences  of  his  own 
criminal  self-indulgence,  and  to  arrange  the  business  as 
he  could. 

Poor  Mr.  Foxall  was  overcome  with  grief  and  humi- 
liation. •  The  debts  had  been  contracted  by  his  partner, 
but  as  his  share  of  their  wasted  property  was  insuf- 
ficient to  pay  one-third  of  them,  he  was  obliged  to  turn 
out  all  his  own.  Even  the  trusting  servants,  more  his 
friends  than  slaves,  that  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
the  dear  old  home,  must  go  to  satisfy  the  gambler's 
creditors. 

Oh !  what  a  wave  of  sorrow  rushed  over  the  spirits 
of  those  doomed  slaves,  when  they  learned  their  des- 
tiny !  Even  Sally  and  her  children,  who  should  have 
been  sent  back  to  their  young  mistress,  to  whom  of 
right  they  still  belonged,  they,  too,  were  given  up. 

As  many  as  could  be  sold  at  private  sale  were  thus 
disposed  of.  That  was  better  than  to  be  put  up  at 
auction,  where  they  might  fall  into  the  hands  of  traders, 
and  thus  become  so  widely  scattered  that  they  could 
never  more  hear  from  each  other. 

Yina  was  the  first  of  all  the  number  to  be  sold.  She 
had  been  hired  out  as  a  nurse  for  two  or  three  years, 
and  was  now  in  the  service  of  Mrs.  Smith,  at  the  hotel 
in  Courtland. 

It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  Aunt  Sally  was  com- 
ing in  that  day  from  the  plantation,  to  see  her  children. 


VISTA'S  EARLY  HISTORY.  95 

Vina  had  dressed  the  baby,  and  was  just  finishing  the 

arranging  of  her  mistress'  room,  when  Dr.  P ,  of 

Courtland,  entered. 

"Your  name  is  Vina,"  said  he,  "and  you  belong  to 
Mr.  Foxall?" 

-"Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  I  have  bought  you,  and  you  must  be  ready 
to  go  with  me  in  an  hour." 

He  left  the  room,  and  Vina  gazed  after  him  like 
one  bewildered.  It  was  so  sudden,  only  one  hour, 
and  her  mother  had  not  yet  come. 

She  looked  up  the  street.  There  was  no  one  in 
sight  that  cared  for  her.  A  thought  struck  her.  She 
would  go  and  see  her  master,  and  learn  from  his  own 
lips  her  fate.  She  would  beg  him  to  let  her  stay  till 
her  mother  should  come ;  she  could  not  go  away  with- 
out bidding  her  "  Good-bye." 

Mr.  Foxall  lived  in  the  village,  in  a  large  brick 
house,  near  the  hotel.  Thither  the  excited  girl  ran. 
"  Is  Mass'r  in  the  house  ?"  asked  she  of  the  first  servant 
that  she  met. 

"  I  reckon  so ;  I  aint  seen  him  gwine  out." 

But  the  master,  well-nigh  broken  hearted  at  the  ne- 
cessity of  parting  with  his  servants,  could  not  be  found. 
Vina  ran  through  the  house,  searching  every  room 
that  was  unlocked.  He  had  expected  this,  and  he 
could  not  bear  to  meet  her,  after  he  had  sold  her  to  a 
stranger. 

The  poor  girl  returned  to  the  hotel.  She  had 
learned  from  some  of  the  servants  that  Dr.  P.  had  not 
bought  her  for  himself;  but  that,  being  indebted  to 
Mr.  McKiernan,  of  Franklin  county,  and  his  former 
partner,  Mr.  Stout,  of  Nashville,  he  had,  at  their  re- 


96  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

quest,  bought  her  and  a  young  girl  named  Rosetta,  for 
them. 

With  an  aching  heart,  she  stood  watching  for  her 
mother.  There 'was  no  tear  in  her  eye,  and  her  fea- 
tures were  fixed  and  rigid.  Ah  Sally  !  came  there  no 
spirit-voice  to  thee,  bidding  thee  hasten  to  thy  child, 
whose  heart  was  breaking  ? 

"Ready,  girl?"  shouted  a  coarse  voice.  "Come! 
can't  wait.  Bring  along  your  traps,  if  you've  got  any, 
but  you  can't  take  a  big  bundle,  seein'  there's  two  on 
you  to  ride." 

Vina  gazed  a  moment  at  the  speaker,  an  ill-looking 
young  man  on  horseback,  and  then,  seeing  that  Rosetta 
stood  by  his  side,  holding  another  horse  by  the  bridle, 
she  silently  picked  up  the  little  bundle  she  had  pre- 
pared, and  went  out.  One  long  look  she  cast  up  the 
street,  with  a  faint  hope  that  she  might  yet  see  her 
mother's  form  approaching. 

That  hope  was  vain.  She  saw  many  happy  mothers 
with  their  children,  walking  to  the  house  of  God ;  and 
maidens  of  her  own  age  tripped  by,  unconscious  alike 
of  grief  and  care.  No  tearful  pitying  eye  rested  upon 
her  face,  no  heart  sighed  at  the  utter  desolation  of  her 
hopes. 

She  mounted  the  horse  mechanically,  as  one  in  a 
dream ;  and  Rosetta  sprang  up  behind  "her. 

Silently,  hour  after  hour,  they  followed  their  rough 
guide.  Now,  blooming  fields,  on  either  side,  smiled 
on  them  as  they  passed ;  and  then,  their  road  crept 
through  thick  gloomy  woods,  that  hid  the  darkness  in 
their  shadowy  depths  through  all  the  bright  Spring 
days. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

VINA'S     FIRST   YEAR    AT    McKIERNAN'S . 

LATE  in  the  evening,  the  two  young  maidens  reached 
their  destination,  and  were  conducted  to  the  kitchen. 
Bashfully  they  crept  into  the  darkest  corner,  while  cu- 
rious eyes  stared  at  them  from  every  side,  and  wonder- 
ing whispers  passed  from  lip  to  lip. 

The  cook  alone  seemed  not  surprised  at  the  arrival 
of  the  strangers,  but  with  a  wise  look  that  well  became 
her  elevated  station,  bade  them  come  closer  to  the  fire ; 
for  "  Tears  like,"  said  she,  "  de  evenin's  sort  o'  cold. 
Missusjll  be  home  to-reckly ;  she  went  to  Tuscumby 
to  church,  to-day,  wid  her  sister,  Miss  'Muthis.  Dar, 
warm  yerself,  honey,  you  looks  sort  o'  chilly  like," 
continued  the  old  woman,  as  she  drew  Bosetta  towards 
the  blazing  fire,  at  which  she  was  preparing  supper. 

Rosetta  had  left  neither  father  nor  mother  behind, 
and  though  she  was  sad  at  leaving  her  young  compan- 
ions, and  above  all,  her  master,  whom  she  almost 
adored,  yet  these  slight  regrets  soon  subsided,  and  she 
readily  glided  into  conversation,  with  the  new  associ- 
ates to  whom  she  had  been  so  unceremoniously  pre- 
sented. The  iron  had  not  entered  her  soul. 

But  Vina  crept  further  back  into  her  shadowed 
corner,  where,  heedless  of  the  numerous  visitors  that 

5  [97] 


98  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   KANSOMED. 

love  to  assemble  on  Sunday  evening  in  a  planter's 
kitchen,  she  yielded  to  the  influence  of  her  desponding 
thoughts.  Yet  no  tear  moistened  her  eye-lid,  no  sob 
gave  vent  to  the  choking  anguish  of  her  heart. 

"  Missis  come  :  say,  bring  in  supper ;"  said  a  young 
girl,  appearing  for  a  moment  at  the  kitchen  door. 

Supper  was  carried  in,  and,  one  by  one,  the  dark 
visitors  to  the  kitchen  went  out ;  some  to  prepare  their 
own  scant  evening  meals,  arid  others  to  collect  again 
in  little  groups  for  confidential  chat. 

"Hi !  dem's  nice  gals  in  yon !"  said  the  tallest  in  one 
of  these  groups — a  kind  hearted  fellow,  that  had 
pitied  the  confusion  of  the  young  strangers. 

"  Not  over  an'  above  nice,  I  reckon ;  dat  little  un's 
sort  o'  fa'r,  but  t'other  looks  like  she  don't  know 
nuthin'.  She  aint  much  'count,  no  how." 

"You  don't  know  'bout  dat  dar,"  rejoined  the  first 
speaker,  "she  mought  'a'  lef — her  sweetheart — 'way 
yon' — pears  like  she  feels  mighty  bad." 

"  Missus  say,  come  in  de  house ;  she  wank  to  see 
what  ye  all  looks  like;"  cried,  the  same  young  girl  at 
the  kitchen  door. 

"Dar,  go  'long  honey,"  said  the  old  cook,  as  she 
drew  Vina  from  the  shaded  corner,  and  placed  her 
beside  Rosetta.  "Hoi'  up  yer  heads  now,  children, 
and  look  peart  like  when  ye  goes  in  to  see  Missus ;  go 
'long." 

"  De  Lor'  help  'em,  poor  little  critters,"  sighed  the 
kind  old  woman,  as  she  watched  them  from  the 
kitchen  door,  "dey's  got  a  she  wolf  to  deal  wid  now. 
'Pears  like  dey  aint  used  to  hard  times,  no  how,  but 
nobody  cant  say  dat  dar  'bout  em,  arter  dey's  done 
staid  on  dis  yer  place  one  year." 


FIRST  YEAR  AT  MoKIERNAN'S.  99 

Timidly  the  two  girls  advanced  into  the  presence  of 
their  future  mistress.  She  fixed  her  keen  cold  eyes  on 
them  for  a  moment,  and  then  addressed  herself  to 
Vina. 

"  What  can  you  do,  girl  ?" 

"  I's  been  used  to  nursin',  ma'am,  and  waitin'  in  the 
house."- 

"Did  you  never  work  in  the  field?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  Ah !  you've  been  raised  quite  a  lady !  Can  you 
round  corn?"* 

"  I  don't  know  what  that  is,  ma'am." 

"  Can  you  chop  through  cotton  ?"f 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  You're  such  a  lady,  I  suppose  you  never  saw  any 
cotton  grow." 

"Yes  ma'am,  I's  seen  a  plenty  of  cotton  a  growin', 
but  I  never  worked  it." 

Mr.  McKiernan  then  approached,  and  unfastening 
her  frock  behind,  examined  her  back.  "Have  you 
ever  been  whipped?"  asked  he. 

"No,  Sir." 

"  So  I  thought,  your  back  is  as  smooth  as  mine." 

He  then  proceeded  to  make  a  more  minute  examin- 
ation of  her  person,  inspecting  her  limbs,  to  see  whether 
she  were  well-formed  and  sound. 

Bosetta  then  underwent  a  similar  examination,  and 
the  master  and  mistress  both  seeming  satisfied,  they 
were  dismissed. 

"See  that  you  behave  yourselves,"  said  the  master, 

.     *  Weeding  around  the  hills. 

f  Thinning  the  cotton  by  removing  all  superfluous  stalks,  so  as  to 
leave  only  enough  for  a  stand. 


100          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

as  they  went  out, — "  if  you  do  well,  you'll  find  that  we 
shall  be  good  to  you." 

Martha,  the  young  girl  before  mentioned,  accom- 
panied them  back  to  the  kitchen.  "  Your  coat  is  un- 
fastened," said  Rosetta,  as  they  went  out,  "stop  a 
minute  till  I  button  it." 

"  0  no,"  whispered  Martha,  "I  can't  have  it  fastened, 
my  back's  so  sore." 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  back?" 

"  Why,  whar  missus  cuts  me  up.  She's  allers  a 
beatin'  me.  0  I  wish  I's  dead  I" 

The  strangers  exchanged  mournful  looks,  but  not 
another  word  was  spoken. 

After  they  went  out,  a  consultation  was  held  in 
"  Missus'  "  room,  concerning  the  most  profitable  dispo- 
sition that  could  be  made  of  the  two  girls.  "Mr.  Stout 
will  not  be  on  for  his  till  some  time  in  the  summer," 
said  the  mistress ;  "  there  will  be  time  enough  before 
that  to  ascertain  which  will  make  the  most  valuable 
servant ;  but  it  isn't  best  to  let  them  know  that  either 
of  them  is  to  go  to  Nashville.  We  will  try  them,  and 
keep  the  one  that  we  like  best." 

They  were  both  unaccustomed  to  field  labor,  and 
after  due  consultation  it  was  decided  best  to  send 
Martha  out,  and  to  keep  both  of  the  new  ones  for  the 
present  in  the  house.  Accordingly,  the  next  morning, 
Martha  was  sent  to  the  field.  She  was  glad  of  the  ex- 
change, for  she  was  not  strong,  and  her  mistress  had 
taxed  her  powers  of  endurance  to  the  utmost.  To  Yina 
was  assigned  the  post  of  housemaid  and  waiter;  and 
Rosetta  was  installed  as  nurse  of  Bernard  McKiernan, 
Junior,  then  but  a  few  months  old. 

Mrs.  McKiernan  was  much  pleased  with  her  two 


VINA'S  FIRST  YEAR  AT  MoKIERNAN'S.  101 

new  maids,  and  with  good  reason,  for  they  were  quick 
and  careful,  and  attentive  to  all  her  instructions.  Poor 
Martha's  bruised  back  had  filled  their  hearts  with 
terror ;  and  from  the  conversations  of  their  fellow-ser- 
vants in  the  kitchen,  they  gained  no  impressions  of  their 
new  mistress  that  tended  to  dispel  their  fears. 

For  three  months  the  young  girls  quietly  pursued 
their  monotonous  round  of  daily  duties ;  and  thus  far, 
they  had  scarcely  given  occasion  to  their  mistress  for  a 
reproof. 

Eosetta  had  become  quite  happy  and  contented ;  but 
poor  Yina's  heart  pined  for  her  mother.  All  night 
she  lay  very  still,  wrapt  in  a  blanket,  on  the  floor  of 
her  mistress'  room,  and  wondered  if  her  mother  and 
brothers  had  been  sold,  and  wished  she  knew  where 
they  had  been  carried.  When  she  fell  asleep,  her, heart 
was  wandering  still  through  strange,  lonely  places,  in 
search  of  those  whose  forms,  alas !  she  might  never 
more  behold.  But  after  all,  they  might  be  very  near 
her — Oh!  if  she  could  only  hear  who  had  bought 
them! 

This  perpetual  anxiety  could  not  fail  to  impair  her 
health.  She  lost  all  appetite  for  food ;  and  though  she 
uttered  no  complaint,  one  could  plainly  see,  by  her 
wasted  figure,  and  by  the  look  of  melancholy  that 
never  left  her  face,  that  she  was  wretched. 

One  morning  in  June,  as  Mrs.  McKiernan,  accord- 
ing to  her  custom,  was  making  a  tour  of  discovery 
through  the  house,  to  be  sure  that  everything  was  in 
order,  she  chanced  to  spy  a  silver  ladle  in  the  kitchen, 
that  must  have  remained  there  since  dinner-tune  of 
the  preceding  day.  It  was  the  first  instance  of  care- 
lessness or  neglect  that  had  occurred  in  Yina's  depart- 


102          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

ment  since  slie  had  been  in  the  Louse ;  and  with  quick 
anger,  the  mistress  seized  the  cowhide. 

Yina  had  never  in  her  life  been  whipped,  except 
when,  for  some  childish  fault,  her  mother  had  correct- 
ed her ;  and  now,  when  her  mistress  called  her  in  an 
angry  tone,  saying  she  could  make  her  remember  to 
take  care  of  the  silver,  the  thought  of  Martha's  lacerated 
back  sent  a  shudder  through  her  frame.  But  she  did 
not  weep,  nor  beg  for  mercy. 

With  her  own  fair  hands  the  delicate  lady  chastised 
her  trembling  slave.  She  did  it  very  gently,  for  she 
was  not  half  as  angry  as  she  oftentimes  became  at 
smaller  provocations.  Yet  the  blood  oozed  through 
the  bruised  skin  that  was  swelled  in  ridges  across  poor 
Vina's  back ;  and  she  imagined— ignorant  creature  that 
she  was — that  she  had  been  severely  punished.  Ah ! 
the  day  was  coming,  when  she  would  designate  such  a 
whipping  as  "  only  a  slight  bresh" 

From  that  morning,  she  determined,  if  possible,  to 
escape  from  the  immediate  jurisdiction  of  her  mistress ; 
and  soon  after,  seeing  her  master  alone,  she  went  to 
him,  and  asked  him  if  she  might  go  to  the  field. 

"Why?"  said  he,  "what  the  devil  put  that  into 
your  head?  You  don't  know  anything  about  field 
work,  do  you  ?" 

"  No,  Sir,  but  I  reckon  I  could  learn ;  and  I  mought 
as  well  take  my  chance  in  the  field  as  to  stay  in  the 
house.  But,  please  Sir,  don't  let  missus  know  I  axed 
you." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  well,  I  won't  tell  her.  I'd  like  to  have 
you  in  the  field,  any  how,  for  Martha's  sickly,  and  not 
much  account.  Go  along  now ;  I'll  talk  to  your  mis- 
tress about  it." 


TINA'S  FIRST  YEAR  AT  MoKIERNANS.  103 

"Look  here,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  soon  after  this  con- 
versation; "Martha  don't  do  much  in  the  field;  she  s 
sickly,  you  know,  and  she  can't  keep  up  with  the 
others.  I  reckon  we  'd  better  bring  her  back  into  the 
house,  and  take  Yina  in  her  place.  She  seems  to  be 
well,  and  willing  to  work." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  lady,  in  her  characteristic  asper- 
ity of  tone,  "I'd  rather  have  Vina  in  the  house;  but 
if  you  can't  manage  Martha,  send  her  in.  I  can  make 
her  work ;  she  will  never  conquer  me  with  her  sickly 
complaining." 

JThe  next  morning  Vma  went  to  the  field,  where, 
though  at  first  all  was  strange,  she  soon  learned  to 
"  round  corn,"  that  being  then  the  work  in  season. 

About  midsummer,  Mr.  Stout  came  on  from  Nash- 
ville, to  see  the  girl  that  had  been  bought  for  him,  and 
to  take  her  home. 

Both  the  girls  were  shown  him.  He  seemed  to 
prefer  Yina,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McKiernan  both  assured 
him  that  as  he  wanted  a  house  servant,  it  would  be 
much  better  for  him  to  take  Eosetta ;  for  she  was  a 
very  bright  girl,  and  was  becoming  every  day  more 
useful.  They  could  make  Yina  do  very  well  in  the 
field,  but  she  was  exceedingly  ignorant,  and  withal 
quite  deaf,  so  that  it  would  be  utterly  impossible  for 
her  to  learn  the  duties  of  a  waiter  or  a  nurse. 

Mr.  Stout,  having  been  for  many  years  a  partner  of 
Mr.  McKiernan  in  a  carriage  factory  in  Nashville,  un- 
derstood his  habits  and  principles  of  action.  He  had 
also  some  idea  of  the  prevailing  characteristics  of  his 
wife ;  and,  suspecting  that  their  advice  was  not  entirely 
disinterested,  he  improved  an  opportunity  to  go  alone 
to  the  field  where  the  hands  were  all  at  work.  He 


104          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE  KANSOMED. 

talked  awhile  with  the  head-man,  Nelson,  about  the 
weather  and  the  crops ;  and  then,  noticing  Vina  at  her 
work,  he  carelessly  asked  the  man  what  sort  of  a  girl 
she  was. 

"  Oh !  she  is  a  good  hand,  Sir,  fas  rate,  Sir." 

"  Can  she  hear  well  ?" 

"  Yes,  SET,"  replied  Nelson,  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"  Your  mistress  told  me  she  was  right  deaf." 

"Well,  call  her,  Sir,  see  if  she  can't  hear.  Yah! 
yah !  Dat  little  gal  deaf." 

"  O,  Vina  I"  said  Mr.  Stout.  She  looked  up  from 
her  work.  "  How  do  you  get  along,  Vina?  "Would 
you  like  to  go  and  live  with  me  ?" 

"  Whar  you  live,  sir?" 

"  I  live  in  Nashville.    Would  you  like  to  go  there  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know,  sir.  I's  fur  enough  from  my 
mother  now.  I  reckon  I  don't  never  want  to  go  no 
furder." 

Mr.  Stout  returned  to  the  house.  He  saw  the  true 
state  of  the  case,  but  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  seem  to 
understand  it ;  so  when  a  few  days  after,  he  left  for 
home,  he  took  Rosetta  with  him.  She  had  no  ties  to 
bind  her  here,  and  was  well  pleased  with  the  idea  of 
living  in  Nashville ;  of  which  city  she  had  heard  glow- 
ing descriptions  from  the  old  servants.  They  were 
"  raised"  there,  and  still  remembered  the  place  with 
true  home-love. 

Towards  the  last  of  August,  when  the  crop  was  laid 
by,  Vina,  who  still  pined  for  her  mother,  received  from 
her  master  a  "pass"  to  Courtland.  She  had  some 
clothes  there,  which  she  wished  to  get ;  and  even  if  her 
mother  were  sold,  she  hoped  at  least  to  learn  where  she 
had  gone. 


VINA'S  FIRST  YEAR  AT  McKIERNAN's.  105 

She  started  on  Thursday  morning  ;  and,  as  she  rode 
alone  on  horseback  over  the  road  that  a  few  months 
before  had  seemed  so  dark  and  lonely,  the  shadow  that 
ever  since  that  day  had  rested  on  her  heart,  was  lifted. 
She  was  young ;  and  Hope,  though  crushed  and  silent 
long,  revived  again ;  and  whispered  in  her  fainting 
spirit's  ear,  sweet  promises  of  brighter  days  to  come. 

It  was  noon  when  she  reached  Courtland.  How 
her  heart  beat  as  she  rode  up  the  familiar  street ! 

Soon  her  eager  eyes  rested  on  an  old  acquaintance, 
and  she  inquired  in  trembling  accents  for  her  mother. 

"  La !  honey,"  replied  the  old  woman  she  had  ac- 
costed, "  whar  you  been  all  dis  time,  and  never  know- 
ed  yer  mammy  sol'  ?  Mr.  Peoples  done  bought  her  ; 
dat  Peoples  whar  live  off  yon'  east  o'  town  'bout  four 
mile.  He  got  ole  Moses  and  Jerry  too  ;  yer  mammy's 
mighty  lucky — got  sol'  'long  o'  her  ole  man,  and  one 
o'  her  boys.  Mr.  Peoples  mighty  good  massa  too ; 
leastways  so  all  de  folks  say  whar  lives  out  dar.  But 
yer  mammy  to  Mr.  Mosely's  now.  Mr.  Peoples  done 
hire  'em  all  out  for  de  balance  o'  dis  year." 

Yina  could  listen  no  longer.  Her  heart  was  throb- 
bing wildly ;  and  tears,  that  despair  had  long  forbid  to 
flow,  were  standing  in  her  eyes.  She  turned  her  horse 
in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Mosely's  ; — he  must  not  stop 
to  rest  till  she  should  arrive  at  that  goal  of  all  her 
hopes — her  mother's  side. 

Aunt  Sally  was  at  work  in  the  field,  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  house,  and  little  dreamed  that  she 
should  that  day  behold  the  daughter  for  a  sight  of 
whose  features  she  had  so  earnestly  prayed. 

Yina  left  her  horse  at  the  house,  and  walked  to  the 
field.     She  came  very  near  the  group  of  slaves  at  work 
5* 


106.        THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   KAN8OMED. 

before  she  was  perceived.  Suddenly  her  mother 
raised  her  head : — "  My  chile  !  my  chile  1"  she  cried, 
as  with  uplifted  hands  and  streaming  eyes  she  ran  to 
meet  her  daughter,  and  pressed  her  closely  to  her  breast. 

Mrs.  Mosely  had  bidden  Vina  to  tell  her  mother 
that  she  might  "  have  holiday"  while  she  remained  ; 
and  when  the  first  gush  of  emotion  had  subsided,  they 
walked  together  to  the  house. 

"  0  Vina !"  said  her  mother,  "  how  I  did  mourn 
when  I  come  to  town  dat  Sunday,  and  you  was  gone. 
I  reckon  I  skeered  'em  all  a  screamin'  and  takin'  on. 
I  didn't  know  what  to  do,  so  I  went  right  to  mass'r. 
He  felt  mighty  bad  too  ;  but  he  say  he  can't  hope  it ; 
he's  'bliged,  he  say,  sell  every  thing — and  do  Lord 
knowed  he  wouldn't  part  wid  his  servants  if  dar  was 
any  way  for  him  to  keep  'em.  He  cried  a  heap  while 
I  was  dar.  O  'pears  like,  gentlemen  mought  keep  out 
o'  debt  when  dey  knows  what  trouble  it  '11  all  come  to 
at  las'.  He  couldn't  tell  me  nuthin'  'bout  de  place 
whar  you  done  gone ;  all  he  said,  he  done  sol'  you 
and  Eosetta  to  Dr,  T. ;  and  he's  gwine  send  one  to  a 
gentleman  in  Franklin,  and  t'other  to  Nashville.  O 
Lord  1  how  my  heart  did  ache !  and  'pears  like  it 
never  stop  achin'  'till  I  see  your  blessed  face.  Is  you 
got  a  good  mas'r  and  missus,  chile  ?" 

"  Not  over  and  'bove ;  but  they  'aint  troubled  me 
much  yit.  They's  mighty  tight  on  the  rest.  O  how 
some  o'  the  people  thar  does  git  cut  up !  .  Tears  like 
they  will  kill  'em  sometime." 

"  Poor  chile !  poor  chilo !  May  de  good  Lord  keep 
de  wolves  off  o'  your  flesh !  Der  aint  no  way  to  live 
wid  dem  kind,  only  to  pray  to  de  Lord  to  keep  de 
lions'  mouths  shut  up." 


VINA'S  FIRST  YEAR  AT  Ho  KIERXAN'S.  107 

Aunt  Sally  had  married  a  man  named  Moses,  since 
she  came,  to  Alabama ,  and  having  been  sold  with  him 
and  her  oldest  son,  she  felt  that  her  lot  was  far  better 
than  that  of  many  of  her  companions.  She  possessed 
a  kind  and  grateful  disposition,  and  her  trust  was  in 
the  arm  of  her  Redeemer.  "  We's  poor  critters  in  dis 
yer  world,"  she  would  remark,  "  buj;  dars  a  crown  for 
us  yon',  if  we  minds  de  word  of  de  Lord,  and  keeps 
patient  to  de  end." 

"Now,"  said  Aunt  Sally,  as  they  all  sat  round  the 
door,  enjoying  the  cool  air  of  evening,  "  if  Quail  only 
knowed  you  was  yer,  Yina,  and  if  mass'r  could  spare 
him,  wre'd  be  altogether  once  more.  Poor  Quail! 
mass'r  say  he  gwine  keep  him  ;  but  I  don't  know — I 
'spect  I  shall  hear  he's  sol',  too." 

Swiftly  passed  the  hours  till  Sunday  ;  when,  as  her 
"  pass"  specified,  Vina  must  return.  She  lingered  as' 
long  as  she  dared,  and  when  she  must  go,  and  Jerry- 
had  saddled  her  horse,  and  brought  him  to  the  door, 
she  tore  herself  from  her  mother's  arms,  sprang  into 
the  saddle — and  was  gone. 

Vina  returned  safely  to  her  master's  house.  The 
old  light  came  back  to  her  eye,  and  the  accustomed 
elasticity  to  her  step  ;  and  the  old  cook  remarked  that 
little  Vina  had  "  gone  mighty  peart  like  since  she  tuck 
dat  dar  jaunt  to  de  ole  place." 


CHAPTER    XII. 
THE    MARRIAQK. 

DURING  the  first  months  of  Vina's  residence  at  Mr. 
McKiernan's,  she  formed  no  intimacies  with  her  com- 
panions. Her  heart  was  too  heavy  to  sympathize  in 
their  transient  griefs,  or  to  join  in  the  merry  sports 
with  which  they  sought  to  enliven  their  brief  intervals 
of  rest. 

*-  Mr.  Gist's  plantation  lay  very  near,  indeed,  the  dwell- 
ings were  not  more  than  a  mile  apart,  and  from  the 
near  relationship  of  the  two  families,  a  greater  intimacy 
existed  between  the  servants  than  is  usual  between  the 
slaves  even  of  near  neighbors. 

Peter  was  at  this  time  a  fine,  cheerful  fellow,  in  the 
first  fresh  vigor  of  manhood;  and,  being  a  special 
favorite  with  his  mistress,  he  was  always  a  welcome 
visitor  at  the  plantation  of  her  brother-in-law.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  McKiernan  liked  him,  for  he  was  always  re- 
spectful and  obliging;  and  to  their  servants,  his  bright, 
good-humored  face  brought  ever  a  gleam  of  the  heart's 
sunshine. 

Even  the  lovely  little  Vina  felt  the  genial  influence 
of  his  presence,  and  her  shyness  and  reserve  gradually 
melted  away  in  the  warmth  of  his  smiles.  At  the  first 
siht  of  the  desolate  straner  his  heart  was  moved  to 


THE   MARRIAGE.  109 

pity ;  and,  as  lie  never  failed  to  speak  kindly  to  her, 
she  soon  began  to  look  for  his  coming,  as  a  weary 
watcher  waits  for  the  morning. 

Thus,  week  after  week,  and  month  after  month, 
grew  and  strengthened  the  sympathy  between  the 
brave-hearted  youth,  and  the  timid,  shrinking  maiden ; 
and  when  Vina  had  been  a  year  in  her  new  home,  they 
had  confessed  their  mutual  love,  and  only  waited  for  a 
favorable  opportunity  to  be  united  in  marriage. 

True,  Vina  was  but  fifteen  years  old,  but  she  was 
very  destitute  and  helpless,  and  there  was  none  but 
Peter  to  care  for  her. 

Her  master  and  mistress  were  pleased  to  observe  this 
growing  attachment.  Mr.  McKiernan  had  always 
fancied  Peter,  and  longed  to  own  him ;  and,  as  he  knew 
it  would  be  inconvenient  for  him  to  have  a  wife  away 
from  home,  he  determined  to  encourage  him  to  marry 
Vina,  that  then  he  might  perhaps  be  able  to  induce  his 
brother-in-law  to  sell  him. 

To  his  master  and  mistress,  Peter  dreaded  to  com- 
municate his  wishes.  He  had  seen  poor  Levin's  suffer- 
ings in  consequence  of  having  formed  a  connection 
which  they  did  not  approve  ;  and  he  was  conscious  of 
the  difficulties  that  would  attend  his  caring  for  a  wife 
on  any  neighboring  plantation.  His  mistress  always 
wanted  him  at  home.  She  depended  on  him ;  and  he 
knew  that  she  would  object  to  having  his  attention 
diverted  from  her  business  by  family  cares  of  his  own. 

Yet,  while  he  understood  all  this,  he  felt  that  he 
was,  himself,  a  man.  Was  he  not  twenty-five  years 
old,  and  had  he  not  a  right  to  marry  ?  Surely,  when 
he  had  waited  for  so  many  years  upon  his  master's 
family,  without  ever  indulging  a  wish  that  could  inter- 


110        THE  KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

rupt  their  pleasure,  they  might  be  content  to  spare  him 
now  and  then  on  a  Sunday  for  the  cultivation  and  en- 
joyment of  his  own  affections. 

Still  he  knew  they  would  oppose  him,  and  he  could 
not  bear  to  vex  them ;  so  he  postponed  speaking  to 
them  of  his  wishes  till  something  should  occur  that 
would  naturally  open  the  way  for  the  communication. 

Thus  the  matter  was  suspended,  when,  early  in  May, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gist  announced  their  intention  of  visit- 
ing Lexington.  They  had  for  several  years  been  talk- 
ing of  going  there,  and  had  promised  Peter  that  when 
they  went,  he  might  drive  the  carriage.  He  had  anti- 
cipated much  pleasure  in  the  visit;  and  when,  year 
after  year,-  circumstances  had  rendered  its  postpone- 
ment necessary,  he  had  keenly  felt  the  disappointment. 

But  now,  to  the  surprise  of  all,  he  did  not  wish  to 
go.  "  Not  go  !"  cried  his  master,  "  I  thought  there 
was  nothing  you  would  like  so  well !" 

"  Well,  so  I  would,"  replied  Peter,  "  but  it's  so  long 
now,  that  I  'm  'feared  everybody  there  done  forgot  me. 
There  would  'nt  be  nobody  glad  to  see  me,  no  how." 

"  Well,  well,  then  old  man  Frank  can  go — he'll  not 
want  to  be  asked  twice." 

Uncle  Frank  was  wild  with  delight  at  the  intelli- 
gence that  Peter  was  to  stay  at  home.  There  were  so 
many  old  friends  there  that  he  would  be  glad  to  see — 
"  yah !  yah !  Eeckon  all  de  folks  in  Lexington  ain't 
forgot  ole  Frank." 

Mrs.  Gist  had  a  brother- living  near;  and  to  him, 
while  he  should  be  away,  Mr.  Gist  entrusted  the  care 
of  his  servants.  The  overseer  was  to  be  under  his 
authority  ;  and  no  slave  was  to  be  whipped,  or  in  any 
way  abused,  during  the  master's  absence.  He  knew 


THE  ifAEEIAGE.  Ill 

that  some  of  them  might  do  wrong,  and  might  even 
deserve  whipping ;  but  he  chose  to  be  there  himself 
when  they  were  punished,  in  order  to  be  sure  that 
justice  was  administered  ;  and  so,  whatever  might  be 
the  offence,  the  execution  of  the  penalty  should  be 
postponed  till  his  return. 

On  a  fine  May  morning,  the  carriage  drove  up  to  the 
door.  The  trunks  were  strapped  on  behind,  and  a 
dozen  little  baskets  and  bundles  were  stowed  away  in- 
side. The  mistress,  with  her  sister-in-law,  Miss  Mary 
Gist,  was  handed  in  by  Master  Levi,  and  the  nurse 
followed  with  her  little  charge,  the  precious  baby, 
Mary.  Uncle  Frank  mounted  the  box  ;  he  was  dress- 
ed in  a  new  suit,  and  as  he  bowed  good-bye  to  all  his 
colored  friends  that  stood  about  the  door,  his  white 
teeth  gleamed  in  the  sunshine,  and  his  black  face  shone 
with  delight. 

"With  a  grand  flourish  of  the  whip  he  gave  the  signal 
to  the  spirited  horses,  and  away  they  went;  while 
loving  eyes  looked  a  fond  adieu  from  the  carriage 
windows,  and  many  a  dark  hand  from  the  crowded 
porch  waved  an  affectionate  response. 

Master  Levi's  horse  was  ready ;  and,  after  shaking 
hands  all  around,  and  charging  the  servants  again  and 
again  to  take  good  care  of  everything  in  his  absence, 
he  sprang  into  the  saddle,  and  galloped  on  to  overtake 
the  carriage. 

Many  were  the  warm  wishes  for  a  pleasant  journey 
to  "  young  Mass'r  and  Missus"  that  followed  the  travel- 
lers from  that  sable  band ;  and  many  a  "fear  was 
breathed  that  "  Miss  'Muthis"  or  the  sweet  baby  would 
"  git  mighty  tired  a  ridin'  off  so  far." 

Soon  they  dispersed  to  their  necessary  labors — all 


112          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

but  Peter.  He  remained  upon  the  porcli  alone.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  spot  where  the  carriage  had 
disappeared,  and  lo !  they  were  dim  with  unshed  tears. 
Ah !  it  was  a  great  pleasure  he  had  sacrificed.  Now 
he  should  never  see  Lexington  again.  There  he  had 
suffered  much;  but,  after  all,  he  loved  the  old  place. 
His  boy-friends  were,  doubtless,  scattered;  yet  he 
would  like  to  learn  their  history — he  hoped  they  were 
all  happier  than  he. 

"  Ha!  what  a  fool  I  am!"  thought  he,  as  some  sound 
of  busy  life  within  the  house  roused  him  from  his  re- 
gretful reverie ;  "  here  I  stand,  and  they're  gone.  I'll 
be  married  to  Vina  'fore  they  come  back,  and  then  it'll 
be  too  late  to  make  a  fuss  about  it." 

He  walked  quietly  away  to  his  work,  and  all  day 
long,  his  thoughts  were  busier  than  his  hands.  When 
his  task  was  done,  his  plan  was  laid ;  and  with  a  light 
step  he  trod  the  path  to  Aunt  Lucy's  cabin,  which, 
since  Vina  went  into  the  field,  had  been  her  home. 

It  was  easy  to  win  her  consent  to  immediate  mar- 
riage ;  for  she  was  but  a  lonely  girl ;  and  her  young 
heart,  so  long  unused  to  sympathy,  bounded  at  the 
approach  of  the  footsteps  of  love. 

Her  master  readily  assented  to  the  plan  proposed  by 
Peter;  and,  on  the  evening  of  the  twenty-fifth  of  June, 
all  preliminary  arrangements  having  been  completed, 
they  were  married. 

Old  Cato  Hodge,  a  Baptist  preacher  belonging  to 
one  of  the  neighbors,  performed  the  ceremony.  That 
over,  a  merry  company,  consisting  of  all  Vina's  fellow- 
servants,  and  a  few  of  Peter's  best  friends  from  his 
master's  plantation,  enjoyed  a  substantial  supper  in  the 
kitchen. 


THE   MAKRIAGE.  113 

The  bride  was  very  pretty,  notwithstanding  her  gro- 
tesque attire,  which  consisted  of  an  old  white  dress  and 
a  few  quaint  old-fashioned  ornaments,  that  she  had 
gathered  from  the  discarded  finery  of  her  mistress. 

Yina  was  very  poor.  The  clothes  she  had  brought 
with  her  from  Courtland  were  worn  out,  or  had  been 
stolen  by  the  negroes ;  and  a  white  linsey  frock,  which 
her  mistress  had  given  her  the  preceding  fall,  was 
minus  the  front  breadth.  This  was  the  only  article  of 
clothing  she  had  received  since  she  had  been  on  the 
place ;  and,  as  there  was  no  immediate  prospect  of  her 
getting  another,  Peter  gave  her  a  black  surtout  coat  of 
his  own  with  which  she  patched  it ;  and  though  it  was 
now  half  black  and  half  white,  it  was  quite  comfortable. 

She  had  driven  four-  forked  sticks  into  the  ground 
in  Aunt  Lucy's  cabin,  and  laid  poles  across  from  one 
to  the  other.  On  these  she  placed  four  clapboards, 
four  and  a  half  feet  long.  This  was  her  bed ;  and  her 
only  covering  consisted  of  a  piece  of  an  old  blanket, 
which  the  kind  Aunt  Lucy  had  been  able  to  spare  to 
her.  Other  property  she  had  none. 

Peter,  however,  had  good  clothes ;  and  when  he 
found  that  Mr.  McKiernan  would  supply  them  with 
no  comforts,  he  sold  many  articles  from  his  own  ward- 
robe, that  he  might  provide  decent  clothing  for  his  wife. 

Not  long  after  her  marriage,  Yina  again  obtained 
permission  to  visit  her  mother. 

She  found  her  now  at  Mr.  Peoples'  place,  and  though 
there  was,  perhaps,  less  rapture  in  their  meeting  than 
at  her  former  visit,  there  was  more  unmingled  joy. 
Long  and  earnest  were  the  conversations  they  held 
together,  and  many  times  the  "Good  Lord"  was 
thanked  for  all  the  kindness  he  had  shown  them. 


114          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   KANSOMED. 

Aunt  Sally  had  now  a  kind,  considerate  master, 
and  her  husband  and  her  oldest  child  were  with  her 
there.  Her  former  master  had  gone  back  to  North 
Carolina ;  but  he  had  sold  Quail  in  Courtland  to  a  Mr. 
Bynum.  The  poor  boy  had  lost  in  the  exchange  of 
masters ;  but  he  was  still  near  his  mother,  and  for  that 
she  rendered  thanks  to  Him  who  reigns  above. 

It  were  needless  to  detail  the  thousand  items  of 
advice  and  instruction  which  the  young  wife  at  this 
time  received  from  her  mother.  The  few  days  allotted 
to  the  visit  passed  all  too  soon,  and  the  beloved 
daughter  was  forced  to  say  "  Good-bye."  This  time, 
however,  there  was  less  of  anguish  in  the  parting — all 
she  loved  was  not  left  behind. 


The  Mistress'  welcome  liomo 


See  pace 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

. 

THE     NKW     CABIN. 

THEKE  was  an  anxious  gathering  of  dark  faces  just 
after  sunset.  Earnest  eyes  were  peering  through  the 
trees  in  the  direction  of  the  great  road,  and  long  fingers 
shook  threatfully  at  each  little  sable  urchin,  that  could 
not  stand  still,  and  listen  for  the  carriage  wheels.  The 
cook  bustled  about — now  in  the  kitchen,  watching  her 
biscuits  lest  they  should  bake  too  brown ;  now  in  the 
house,  to  be  sure  that  nothing  was  wanting  on  the  neat 
supper  table,  and  then  her  steaming  figure  came  puffing 
through  the  crowd  before  the  door,  that  she  might  be 
the  first  to  welcome  "  Missus." 

There !  the  faint  rumble  of  wheels  is  heard  approach- 
ing. A  joyous  shout  rises  from  the  excited  throng, 
and  a  score  of  tiny  feet  fly  in  the  direction  of  the  sound. 
There  is  a  merry  strife  between  the  proprietors  of  all 
these  little  feet  for  the  high  privilege  of  opening  the 
gate  for  "  Missus,"  but  it  lasts  not  long.  The  carriage 
comes  in  sight,  and  all  the  little  eager  hands  are  laid 
at  once  upon  the  gate,  which  flies  wide  open  at  their 
touch. 

Here  they  come!  Old  Frank's  smile  is  brighter, 
even  in  the  twilight,  than  when  last  it  beamed  upon 

D15] 


116          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

us  in  the  full  morning  sunshine,  and  as  he  wheels 
proudly  up  before  the  door,  his  old  heart  warms  at  the 
kindly  smiles  that  beam  upon  him. 

How  quickly  is  the  carriage  door  flung  open,  and 
the  steps  let  down !  and  how  lightly  the  beautiful  mis- 
tress is  set  down  in  the  midst  of  her  delighted  servants, 
every  one  of  whom  pushes  forward  to  offer  a  warm 
welcome  home.  The  fair  hand  she  presents-  is  rever- 
ently shaken  or  tenderly  kissed,  and  "How  d'y' 
Missus?"  "  Oh !  you's  pertier  'an  ever !"  " How  glad 
I  is  you's  come  home  once  mo' !"  greet  her  on  every 
side,  as  she  passes  into  the  house. 

Nurse  tenderly  lifts  the  little  Mary  from  the  carriage. 
She  is  fast  asleep,  and  as  she  lays  her  in  her  late 
deserted  cradle,  the  dark  faces  steal  along,  one  by  one, 
to  get  a  peep  at  her  sweet  baby -face. 

"  Bless  my  life !  if  dar  aint  Mass'r !  Hi !  we  all's  so 
glad  see  Missus,  we  done  forget  Mass'r  gwine  come  too!" 
The  hearty  welcomes  are  repeated,  the  extended  hand 
is  duly  shaken,  and  by  the  time  Missus,  with  the  aid 
of  a  dozen  eager  hands  can  be  prepared  to  sit  down  at 
the  table,  supper  is  brought  in. 

"  Well  Peter,  so  you've  stolen  a  march  on  us  since 
we've  been  gone — been  getting  married,  hey?" 

"  Yes,  Sir,  I's  been  gettin'  married." 

"Ha!  ha  I  you  thought  the  folks  at  Lexington  had 
all  forgotten  you.  Well,  since  you  have  been  so  smart, 
I  must  try  and  buy  your  wife  for  you.  You'll  not  be 
worth  much  if  you  have  to  be  running  off  every  week 
to  see  your  family.  Besides,  Mr.  McKiernan  intends 
to  move  to  Bainbridge  about  Christmas,  and  then  you'll 
have  a  long  road  to  travel. 

But  Vina's  master  had  no  intention  of  selling  her. 


THE  NEW   CABIN.  117 

She  was  one  of  the  best  servants  he  had.  He  would, 
however,  be  glad  to  buy  her  husband — very  glad. 

That  was  out  of  the  question.  Neither  Mr.  Gist  nor 
his  wife  would  consent  to  sell  him,  and  if  they  had 
been  willing  to  part  with  him,  Peter  himself  would 
have  remonstrated.  He  knew  too  well  the  difference 
between  the  two  masters  to  wish  for  an  exchange. 

Thus  matters  stood  till  Christmas.  Peter  went  fre- 
quently to  see  his  wife,  as  it  was  so  near,  and  neither 
his  master  nor  his  mistress  endeavored  to  dissuade  him 
from  doing  so.  They  had  tested  their  influence  with 
Levin,  and  they  had  no  desire  to  repeat  the  strife. 

The  brick  house  that  had  been  built  at  Bainbridge 
was  now  occupied  by  Mr.  McKiernan.  He  had  bought 
a  large  plantation  there, — much  of  it  new  land,  and  to 
clear  it,  and  fit  it  for  corn  and  cotton,  required  the  ut- 
most diligence. 

There  was  no  time  to  build  cabins,  though  there  were 
not  half  enough  for  the  numerous  families  of  slaves 
that  he  carried  with  him.  Every  family,  therefore, 
that  wished  a  house  to  themselves,  were  obliged  to 
spend  their  Sundays  in  building  it. 

Peter  immediately  commenced  preparations  for  build- 
ing a  cabin  for  his  wife.  Every  Saturday  he  walked 
to  Bainbridge — a  distance  of  seven  miles ;  and  early 
on  Sunday  morning,  he  was  at  his  work.  All  the  holy 
day  he  toiled,  and  often  when  the  moon  shone,  his 
work  ceased  not  till  late  at  night.  Then  by  the  first 
peep  of  Monday's  dawn,  he  was  up  and  away,  to  com- 
mence his  weekly  labors  for  his  master. 

Peter  was  obliged  to  cut  the  timber  for  his  house, 
himself,  and  then  to  haul  it  across  the  creek.  When 
that  was  all  prepared,  he  hired  men  to  help  him 


118  THE    KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

raise  it ;  and  though  he  did  his  best,  it  was  April  when 
he  had  the  little  building  finished. 

The  roof  was  made  of  boards,  and  the  chimney  of 
sticks  and  clay.  Puncheons  (slabs)  formed  the  floor, 
and  the  ground  itself  made  an  excellent  hearth.  Peter 
was  more  extravagant  than  many  architects  of  kindred 
edifices,  in  that  he  had  a  floor  at  all.  The  bare  earth 
is  generally  deemed  sufficient,  and  it  becomes  at  length, 
by  constant  treading,  almost  as  hard  as  brick. 

The  house  completed,  it  was  empty.  Peter  had 
worked  nights  and  holidays,  and  had  earned  all  he 
could,  but,  alas!  that  was  very  little;  and  now  he  was 
forced  to  sell  more  of  his  clothes  to  buy  the  most  neces- 
sary articles  of  furniture.  Two  or  three  cooking 
utensils,  two  chairs,  and  a  trunk,  he  procured  at  first. 
Then  he  cut  a  walnut  tree,  and  "hauled "it  to  the  mill 
for  a  bedstead,  and  when  that  was  done,  a  straw  bed 
was  prepared  and  laid  upon  it. 

Every  Sunday  morning,  at  Mr.  McKiernan's,  the 
weekly  allowance  was  weighed  out.  This  was  gener- 
ally practised  by  the  Kentucky  planters.  Their  serv- 
ants all  ate  together,  and  usually  a  plentiful  supply 
was  cooked  for  them.  But  here,  a  peck  of  unsifted 
meal,  and  three  and  a  half  pounds  of  bacon,  was  the 
weekly  allowance.  The  piece  might  be  more  than  half 
bone,  yet  no  additional  weight,  was  allowed  on  that 
account.  No  vegetables  were  provided  for  them,  if 
they  wished  any  they  might  raise  them  for  themselves ; 
and  then,  if  they  had  any  desire  for  decent  or  comfort- 
able clothes,  or  any  little  articles  of  furniture,  they  could 
sell  the  few  vegetables  which  their  patches  produced, 
in  order  to  procure  them. 

Mr.  Gist  had  bought  a  shoemaker,  not  long  before, 


THE  NEW  CABIN.  119 

and  lie  had  cheerfully  imparted  instruction  in  his  art 
to  his  friend  Peter.  The  slight  skill  he  acquired  in 
this  branch  of  industry  was  now  of  great  use  to  him, 
as  he  was  able  to  make  his  own  shoes,  and  those  of 
his  wife ;  thus  saving  many  a  dollar  that  must  otherwise 
have  been  expended.  He  also  earned  many  comforts 
for  his  cabin  by  making  shoes  at  night  for  his  fellow 
slaves. 

After  a  while,  as  the  wealth  of  the  young  couple  in- 
creased, they  bought  a  cupboard,  and  afterwards  a 
chest.  This  latter  article  was  very  necessary,  that 
Yina  might  lock  up  her  week's  provisions,  and  any 
little  comforts  which  Peter  brought  her;  as,  if  they 
were  exposed,  some  of  the  half-clad  hungry  slaves 
were  sure  to  steal  them. 

A  flour  barrel,  too,  the  provident  young  husband 
bought,  thinking  it  would  be  useful  in  their  humble 
housekeeping ;  but  before  he  had  a  chance  to  take  it 
home,  Mr.  Gist's  overseer  took  the  liberty  to  appro- 
priate it  to  his  own  use. 

"  That's  my  bar'l,  sir,"  said  Peter,  as  he  saw  him  re- 
moving it,  "  and  I  want  to  use  it  myself." 

"D — n  you!  hush  your  mouth,  you  nigger!  I'll 
let  you  know  you're  not  to  forbid  me  to  use  a  bar'l 
when  I  want  it." 

"But  it's  mine,"  persisted  Peter;  "I  bought  it,  and 
I's  gwine  carry  it  to  my  wife." 

The  'overseer  was  enraged;  but  he  dared  take  not 
vengeance  except  the  weak  one  of  showering  upon  the 
offender  his  most  terrible  curses.     When  he  had  ex- 
hausted his  stock  of  these,  he  was  forced  to  wait  till 
the  master  returned  from  town. 

He  then  complained  to  .Mr.  Gist  that  one  of  his 


120         THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EANSOMED. 

niggers  had  been  impudent  to  him,  and  swore  he 
would  have  revenge.  "And  if,"  added  he,  "I  don't 
whip  him  now,  I'll  give  him  something  that  will  hurt 
him  a  heap  worse." 

The  master  hesitated,  but  finally,  judging  from  the 
fellow's  temper,  that  such  a  course  would  be  safest  for 
his  slave,  he  gave  him  permission  to  whip  him  very 
slightly.  Accordingly,  Peter  was  taken  to  the  stable, 
where  twenty-five  lashes  were  inflicted  on  his  naked 
back. 


CHAPTEE    XIV. 
THE     YOUNQ     MOTHER. 

ON  the  twelfth  of  September,  1826,  the  wailing  of  a 
tiny  voice  was  heard  in  Vina's  cabin.  A  new  fount 
of  love  gushed  up  in  her  mother-heart,  to  bless  the 
little  trembler ;  and  her  frame  thrilled  with  a  delicious 
joy,  as  she  proudly  placed  in  her  husband's  arms  his 
first-born  boy. 

Oh !  how  happily  to  his  mother  passed  the  first  four 
weeks  of  the  existence  of  this  little  one.  Quietly  Vina 
sat  in  her  cabin ;  and,  as  she  gazed  upon  the  innocent 
face  of  her  child,  and  saw  his  little  eyes  learning  to  seek 
hers  in  loving  trustfulness,  her  cup  was  not  all  bitter. 
She  knew  her  babe  was  born  to  slavery — and  sorrow ; 
but  oh !  so  dearly  did  she  love  it !  And,  perhaps, 
after  all,  it  might  fall  into  kind  hands,  and  be  far  hap- 
pier than  its  parents. 

Now,  with  her  joy,  her  care  was  doubled.  As  soon 
as  she  was  able  to  sit  up,  she  toiled  to  the  extent  of 
her  strength  to  put  everything  in  order  in  her  cabin, 
before  her -month  was  up. 

Peter  had  managed  to  provide  materials  for  a  com. 

fortable  wardrobe  for  the  little  stranger ;  and  she  now 

took  great  pleasure  in  making  up  the  tiny  garments. 

They  were  certainly  not  very  fine,  nor  traced  with  ele- 

6  rmj 


122          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

gant  embroidery;  but  when  she  had  them  all  finished, 
and  laid,  neatly  folded,  in  the  trunk,  she  could  not 
help  lifting  the  lid,  now  and  then,  to  see  how  nice  they 
looked. 

Then  she  washed  and  mended  all  her  own  and 
Peter's  clothes;  for  she  knew  she  should  have  but 
little  time  after  she  went  to  the  field  again. 

"When  she  did  go  out,  poor  little  Peter  (for  the  baby 
bore  his  father's  name),  was  left  all  alone  upon  her 
bed.  Four  times  in  the  day,  while  yet  he  was  very 
young,  she  was  permitted  to  go  in  and  minister  to  his 
little  wants.  But  she  had  then  only  a  few  minutes 
to  stay ;  and,  though  in  her  heart  she  longed  to  lull 
him  to  sleep  upon  her  breast,  and  though  he  cried  so 
hard  when  she  laid  him  down,  yet  she  must  go. 

How  tenderly,  when  she  was  employed  as  nurse  in 
Courtland,  had  she  cared  for  the  little  ones  entrusted 
to  her  care  !  How  anxiously  had  she  watched  every 
indication  of  uneasiness,  lest  they  should  be  sick! 
And  when  the  moan  of  pain  fell  on  her  ear,  how  well 
she  knew  the  simple  remedies  for  all  their  little  ail- 
ments !  Now  that  her  own  babe  needed  her  constant 
care,  she  could  not  be  spared.  The  cotton  must  be  picked. 

How  her  heart  ached  when  she  heard  him  crying,  as 
she  often  did,  when  she  was  at  work  in  the  field  near 
the  quarter.  And  if  the  overseer  chanced  to  be  at  a 
distance,  so  that  she  thought  he  would  not  observe  her? 
how  suddenly  she  darted  between  the  trees  that  shel- 
tered the  cabins,  and  entered  the  house !  How  she 
pressed  her  baby  to  her  breast,  while  her  tears  fell  on 
his  little  face !  And  when  she  dared  not  stay  a  minute 
longer,  how  gently  she  laid  him  down  again,  and  im- 
printed one  fond  kiss  upon  his  cheek. 


THE  YOUNG  MOTHER.  123 

When  she  came  in  at  night,  she  built  a  bright  fire 
on  the  clay  hearth,  and  cooked  her  supper.  Then  she 
brought  water  from  the  spring,  and  having  undressed 
her  boy,  she  washed  him  thoroughly.  How  he  enjoyed 
the  nice  cool  bath !  and  how  he  kicked  and  laughed  in 
token  of  his  gratitude  !  But  his  mother  had  no  time  to 
play  with  him,  for  it  grew  late.  So  when  she  had  ar- 
rayed him  in  clean  clothes,  she  tied  him  in  a  chair,  and 
hastened  to  her  work.  There  he  sat  and  watched  her 
till  his  eyelids  drooped,  and  he  sank  quietly  to  sleep, 
while  she  washed  all  the  garments  he  had  worn  that 
day,  and  hung  them  up  to  dry.  Then,  after  making 
her  cabin  as  neat  as  possible,  and  preparing  her  food 
for  the  next  day,  she  threw  off  her  clothes,  and  with 
her  baby  on  her  bosom,  laid  her  down  to  rest. 

Many  times  when  she  had  some  extra  work  to  do, 
her  own  and  her  husband's  washing,  for  instance,  or 
an  old  coat  to  mend,  the  morning  of  another  day 
dawned  in  the  east  before  her  task  was  done.  But  the 
overseer's  horn  blew  not  a  minute  the  later,  because 
she  had  not  slept.  With  aching  eyes,  and  weary  limbs, 
she  went  forth  to  the  field ;  and  through  all  the  long 
day,  her  feet  lagged  not,  though  sometimes  "  'pears 
like,"  to  use  her  own  expression,  she  could  not  keep 
awake.  "  But  I  wouldn't  see  my  child  go  dirty  and 
raggety,"  added  she,  "if  I  didn't  never  git  a  wink  o' 
sleep." 

How  welcome  to  poor  Yina  was  the  approach  of  the 
Sabbath  day!.  How  her  eyes  brightened,  and  her 
heart  grew  light,  as  its  morning  beams  filled  her  little 
cabin,  and  revealed  her  husband  playing  with  his  boy. 

Sometimes  they  dressed  in  their  best  clothes,  and, 
taking  little  Peter  in  their  arms,  walked  to  meeting  on 


124          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

that  day ;  but  oftener  they  were  busy  through,  all  its 
precious  hours,  working  in  the  patch,  or  performing 
some  necessary  labor  about  the  house. 

A  large  field  was  divided  into  as  many  little  patches 
as  there  were  field  hands  on  the  plantation ;  and  every 
slave  could  here  work  nights  and  Sundays  to  cultivate 
his  crop.  Some  raised  cotton,  others  corn ;  and  many 
planted  their  patches  entirely  to  water-melons.  If  the 
overseer  chanced  to  be  "far'ard"  with  his  work,  and 
there  was  not  much  grass  among  the  corn  and  cotton, 
they  could  sometimes  have  a  half  holiday  on  Saturday 
to  work  for  themselves.  But  chiefly  they  depended 
on  their  Sundays.  Early  in  the  morning  they  were 
out  with  mules  and  ploughs,  and  till  late  at  night  they 
toiled  to  raise  their  little  crops.  When  the  moon 
shone  brightly,  if  they  were  getting  "in  the  grass," 
they  often  remained  at  work  all  night. 

The  corn  and  cotton  that  they  "made"  they  were 
obliged  to  sell  to  their  master — at  his  price,  which  was 
seldom  more  than  half  the  market  value.  But  the 
water-melons  they  were  allowed  to  carry  to  town. 
This  was  the  most  profitable  crop  they  raised,  if  they 
could  get  the  fruit  into  market  at  the  right  time ;  but, 
as  Saturday  was  the  only  day  on  which  they  could  go, 
and  as  all  that  had  fruit  to  sell  could  not  have  wagons 
at  the  same  time,  they  frequently  lost  portions  of  their 
crops. 

They  also  raised  chickens ;  and  for  these  there  was 
always  a  ready  irfarket  in  the  neighborhood.  Mrs. 
McKiernan,  herself,  frequently  bought  them  of  her 
servants,  and  she  never  failed  to  pay  them  a  fair  price. 

When  little  Peter  was  about  a  year  old,  his  mother 
had  a  severe  illness.  The  disease  was  inflammation  of 


THE   YOUNG   MOTHER.  125 

the  braifi,  and  the  cause  thereof  we  give  in  her  own 
words. 

"I  never  got  a  heap  o'  whippin'  no  how,  but  when 
Bill  Simms  was  oversee'  he  give  me  one  mons's  hard 
beatin',  bekase  I  wouldn't  s'mit  to  him  'bout  every- 
thing he  wanted. 

"  He  pestered  me  a  heap,  but  I  told  him  I  would  n't 
never  do  no  such  a  thing;  I  told  him  I'd  got  a 
husban'  o'  my  own ;  and  I  was  n't  gwine  have  nothin' 
to  do  with  nobody  else.  He  tried  to  starve  me  to  it — 
many  a  Sunday,  when  he  weighed  out  the  'lowance,  he 
never  give  me  half  my  sheer,  and  I  could  n't  git  no 
more  for  a  week ;  but  I  did  n't  mind  that. 

"  At  last  he  told  me  if  I  didn't  'bey  him,  he'd  whip 
me  nigh  'bout  to  death.  I  told  him  he  might  kill  me, 
but  I  would  n't  never  do  it,  no  how.  So  when  I's  in 
the  field  one  day,  he  tuck  and  whipped  me — I  did  n't 
call  it  whippin' — I  called  it  beatin'.  He  tied  my 
hands  with  his  hand'chief,  and  pulled  my  coat  off  o' 
the  waist ;  and  then  he  beat  me  till  I  could  n't  hardly 
stand.  He  struck  me  over  the  head  mos'ly,  and  tried 
to  knock  me  down  with  the  butt  end  o'  his  bull- whip. 
My  head  was  cut  in  a  heap  o'  places,  whar  the  scars  is 
on  it  yit. 

"  I  reckon  he  wouldn't  'a'  give  me  so  much,  but  I 
tried  to  fight  him  at  first,  and  he  had  to  call  two  o'  the 
men  to  help  him  tie  me.  By  that  time  he  got  so  mad 
that  he  jist  went  'cordin'  to  his  own  mercy.  I  knowed 
I's  in  his  power,  but  I's  determined  to  die  in  the  cause. 

"  The  other  people  was  all  in  sight,  and  he  made  out 
like  he's  beatin'  me  'bout  my  work;  but  he  told  me 
it's  all  bekase  I  would  'nt  'bey  him. 

"  When  he  done  beatin'  he  curse  me  powerful,  and 


126          THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

say,  if  I  ever  tole  this  yer  to  mass'r,  or  to  any  person 
else  so  it  would  get  to  him,  he'd  give  me  a  heap  more ; 
and  if  that  did  n't  do,  he'd  shoot  me. 

"  I  was  determined  he  should  n't  never  conquer  me, 
no  how ;  but  he  was  that  mean,  I  was  feared  he  mought' 
kill  me  sly ;  so  I  never  said  nothin'  'bout  it,  to  nobody 
but  Peter.  He  came  home  a  Sunday,  and  when  he's 
sittin'  by  me,  he  sort  o'  put  his  arm  'round  me.  '  Oh !' 
says  I,  '  don't  put  yer  arm  thar,  you  hurt  my  back  !' 

"  '  "What's  the  matter  o'  yer  back  ?'  says  he. 

"  '  Oh,  it's  mighty  sore  whar  ole  Bill  Simms  done 
beat  me,'  says  I,  '  but  don't  you  tell  nobody,  for  if  he 
finds  out  I  done  tol'  the  tale,  he'll  kill  me,  sure.' 

"  Peter  felt  mighty  bad  when  I  told  him  what  I  got 
the  beatin'  for — 'peared  like,  he  could  'a'  gone  right 
out  and  killed  ole  Bill  Simms  on  the  spot.  He  never 
liked  him,  no  how — they  had  a  fallin'  out,  afore,  when 
he  was  overseein'  for  Mars  Levi  Gist. 

"  But  'twas  n't  no  use  gittin'  mad  'bout  it,  nor  tellin' 
inass'r  nuther ;  bekase  he  allers  say  if  any  person  come 
to  him  with  complaints  'bout  the  oversee's,  he'd  give 
'em  worse,  hisself. 

"  The  next  Sunday,  Simms  come  up  afore  my  house, 
and  spoke  to  Peter,  whar  was  a  standin'  in  the  door. 

"  Peter  answered  him  mighty  low,  and  that  made 
him  mad,  bekase  he  'lowed  I  done  told  him  how  I  been 
'bused.  '  Seems  to  me,'  says  he,  '  you're  gettin'  mighty 
grand.  You're  too  great  a  gentleman  to  speak  to  a 
white  person  with  respect.  Never  mind,  I'll  do  you  a 
kindness  some  o'  these  days.  I  owe  you  something 
this  long  time.' 

"  '  Well,'  says  Peter,  '  that  debt  never  will  be  paid 
till  the  judgment  day.' 


THE   YOUNG  MOTHER.  127 

"I  tremble  every  minute,  for  I  'lowed  I  should  have 
to  take  more  next  day;  but  I  reckon  he  thought  how't 
was  n't  no  use,  for  he  never  said  nuthin'  to  me  'bout  it 
no  more. 

"  I  had  a  heap  o'  misery  in  my  head  all  the  time  for 
two  weeks  arter  I  tuck  that  beatin',  and  then  I  got 
right  sick,  and  they  said  I's  out  o'  my  senses  for  a 
week.  They  sent  for  the  doctor,  but  I  did  n't  know 
nuthin'  'bout  it,  and  he  said  I'd  tuck  some  mighty  hard 
blows  on  the  head.  He  left  medicine,  and  missus,  she 
stay  by  me  all  the  time.  She  sent  for  Peter  to  come — 
she  reckoned  I'd  know  him — but  'twas  n't  no  use. 
They  all  'lowed  I's  gwine  to  die ;  and  then  Peter,  he 
told  'em  all  'bout  what  done  make  me  sick. 

"  Mass'r  was  mighty  mad.  '  Why  the  devil  didn't 
she  tell  me  this  afore  ?'  says  he. 

"  '  Bekase,'  says  Peter,  '  she  knowed  your  rulej  that 
you  don't  keer  how  hard  an  oversee'  beats  your  serv- 
ants, if  they  comes  to  you,  they  shall  git  worse.' 

"  Mass'r  felt  mighty  bad  then,  but  he  'lowed  I  might 
knowed  he'd  protect  me  in  that. 

"I  reckon  I  should  n't  never  got  well,  if  they  all 
had  n't  tuck  such  good  care  o'  me.  When  I  got  so  I 
could  talk,  mass'r  ax  me  why  I  never  told  him  what  a 
beatin'  old  Simms  done  give  me. 

.  " '  What  I  come  to  you  for,'  says  I,  'you  allers  told 
us  never  to  do  that,  without  we  wanted  more.  If  I'd 
'lowed  'twould  done  any  good  I'd  'a'  come  to  you,  sir, 
mons's  quick.' 

"  Soon  as  I's  able  to  walk  from  the  bed  to  the  fire, 
mass'r  come  in  to  see  me,  and  brought  old  Simms  with 
him.  Then  he  axed  me  'bout  that  beatin'  right  afore 
him,  and  I  told  it  to  his  face.  'Twas  so  true,  he 


128          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

couldn't  deny  it.  Mass'r  cursed  him  mightily,  and 
told  him  he  should  pay  my  doctor's  bill,  and  pay  for 
every  day  whar  I  was  sick.  I  never  knowed  'bout  the 
payin'  whether  he  done  it  or  not,  but  mass'r  drove  him 
off  the  place,  and  he  never  come  on  it  agin. 

"  I  see  him  twice  after  that.  The  first  time  we's  all 
gwine  to  meetin'.  I  see  him  comin',  and  says  I,  '  Thar 
comes  the  devil ;  I  ain't  gwine  to  look  at  him.'  So 
I  pulled  my  bonnet  down  over  my  face ;  and  when  he 
come  'long,  and  say  how  d'y'  to  the  rest,  I  never  look 
up. 

"  The  next  time  I  met  old  Simms,  look  like  he's  the 
picter  o'  Death.  He  been  mighty  sick,  and  jist  got 
able  to  ride  out. 

"  That  thar  was  the  last  o'  his  ridin'.  He  took  a 
'lapse  arter  that,  and  then  he  died  in  a  mighty  short 
time. 

"  When  I  heard  he's  dead,  I's  so  glad  !  My  heart 
could  n't  help  from  shoutin',  though  it  oughten't." 


CHAPTER    XV. 
DEATH    OF   A   KIND    MASTER. 

THE  sunshine  of  prosperity  beamed  steadily  upon 
the  peaceful  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gist.  Gradually 
their  worldly  substance  increased;  and  the  dearer 
treasures  of  their  hearts  were  multiplied. 

The  Spring  of  1830,  when  she  had  waked  the  deli- 
cate flowers  of  the  forest,  came  noiselessly  on,  and  with 
careful  hand,  unfolded  the  rosebuds  that  climbed  on 
the  porch. 

Near  the  half-open  door  sat  the  young  husband  and 
his  still  beautiful  wife.  Not  a  line  of  care  or  sorrow 
had  stolen  across  their  foreheads ;  not  a  shade  of  cold- 
ness or  distrust  had  fallen  on  their  hearts.  Their 
children  sported  before  them — two  lovely  girls  and  a 
brave  boy,  the  youngest,  and  the  pet  of  all. 

Ah !  came  no  whispering  voice  to  bid  them  prize 

these  golden  moments  ?     Entered  no  dread  of  change 

into  all  the  plans  they  formed  together  ?    None  !    The 

'  sweet    Spring  smiled    on    them    from  without — the 

parching  Summer  drought  she  never  heralds. 

They  were  planning  a  visit  to  Kentucky.  It  was 
five  years  since  they  had  enjoyed  the  hospitalities  of 
that  endeared  home  of  other  days ;  and  the  beloved 
parent,  from  whom  they  had  been  so  long  severed, 

*  [199] 


130          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

were  growing  old.  Yes ;  they  would  go  to  Lex- 
ington. 

On  a  bright  May  morning,  a  few  weeks  after,  the 
family  carriage  rolled  away  from,  the  door,  with  its 
precious  burden  of  gentle  trusting  hearts.  Tears 
gathered  in  dark  eyes  that  gazed  fondly  after  the  trav- 
vellers ;  and  fond  adieus  to  loving  favorites  were  tossed 
back  by  tiny  hands. 

"  Tears  like,"  sobbed  Aunt  Ceely,  "  somethin's 
gwine  happen.  I's  had  mighty  bad  dreams  dese  las' 
nights." 

"  Oh !  you's  allers  a  dreamin' ;  reckon  yer  dreams 
aint  much  'count,"  replied  a  cheerful  girl  at  her  side. 

"  I  reckon  nuthin'  aint  gwine  hurt  dem,  no  how ; 
dey's  been  to  Kaintucky  'fore  dis/'  said  another,  who, 
though  sad  herself,  would  fain  dispel  Aunt  Ceely's 
gloom. 

The  old  woman  turned  towards  the  kitchen,  and  her 
croaking  was  soon  forgotten.  But  when  at  night  she 
smoked  her  pipe  before  her  kitchen  door,  the  shadow 
of  impending  ill  darkened  her  heart. 

Summer  came  with  its  heat,  and  wearying  toil,  and 
September  passed  away,  and  still  the  house  was  closed. 
Now  and  then,  for  a  few  hours  the  windows  were 
thrown  open,  that  the  fresh  air  of  morning  might  wan- 
der through  the  deserted  rooms.  But  it  would  not 
tarry  long ;  for  it  missed  the  merry  children,  to  whose 
radiant  eyes  and  blooming  cheeks  it  had  been  wont  to 
lend  a  deeper  glow.  So,  after  kissing  lovingly  each 
little  couch,  and  chair,  and  scattered  toy,  the  soft  air 
flew  away,  to  dally  with  the  summer  leaves  that 
danced  at  its  approach. 

Early  in  October,  new  life  seemed,  to  have  awakened 


DEAJII  OF  A  KIND-  MASTER.  131 

on  the  plantation.  The  laborers  stepped  more  briskly 
out  at  morning,  and  the  house  servants  went  bustling 
through  the  lonely  rooms,  "clarin'  up,  and  putting 
things  to  rights  for  Missus." 

There  were  no  gloomy  faces  now- — no  dark  forebod- 
ing of  approaching  woe ;  Aunt  Ceely  herself  forgot 
her  dreams,  she  was  so  busy  planning  a  nice  supper, 
such  as  she  knew  suited  "  Mars  Levi  when  he  come 
home  hongry." 

The  last  day  of  September  was  the  time  appointed 
for  the  family  to  leave  Lexington,  and  though  the 
summer  had  passed  most  pleasantly  in  the  society  of 
valued  friends,  yet  not  one  of  the  little  group  wished 
to  remain  longer. 

On  the  day  previous  to  their  intended  departure,  a 
few  friends  sat  down  with  them  to  a  farewell  dinner, 
at  the  house  of  an  uncle  of  Mr.  Gist. 

The  party  were  in  fine  spirits,  albeit  a  shadow  of 
regret  that  they  were  so  soon  to  part,  did  now  and  then 
steal  over  them.  Plans  of  future  re-unions,  however, 
were  proposed,  and  promises  of  more  frequent  visits 
interchanged. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  whispers  with  bloodless  lips,  the 
beautiful  young  wife,  as  her  husband  sways  towards 
her,  and  she  sees  that  his  face  is  ashy  pale.  Quickly 
his  friends  spring  to  his  assistance.  They  bear  him 
from  the  table,  and  support  him  in  their  arms  upon 
the  sofa. 

Ah !  they  saw  not  the  Death  Angel,  as  with  white 
wings  he  approached,  and  gently  sealed  those  loving 
eyes  and  stilled  that  throbbing  heart.  No  !  they  saw 
him  not,  They  did  not  know  how  vain  were  all 
their  agonized  endeavors  to  restore  the  warm  breath  to 


132          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

that  manly  form,  "  He  lias  only  fainted — give  him 
air!" 

Yain  hope!  The  warm  hands  grow  rigid — cold. 
The  features  become  fixed.  Can  it  be  he  is  dead  ? 

God  pity  thee !  fond  wife — and  grant  thee  tears — 
that  thy  young  heart  break  not. 

In  the  parlor,  at  his  childhood's  home,  was  laid  all 
that  was  mortal  of  Levi  Gist.  His  father  and  mother, 
with  great  tears  on  their  aged  cheeks,  gazed  tenderly 
upon  the  face  of  their  first-born  son ;  and  his  little 
children  stole  up  on. tiptoe  to  look  at  dear  papa;  and 
wondered  that  he  lay  so  still,  when  only  yesterday,  he 
told  them  they  should  start  for  home  to-day.  Dear 
little  ones !  too  soon  shall  ye  learn  the  full  meaning 
of  that  cold  word — fatherless  ! 

The  funeral  was  over.  Fond  eyes  had  gazed  for  the 
last  time  on  those  dear  features,  and  to  the  earth  had 
been  consigned  the  sacred  dust.  Words  of  condolence 
had  been  duly  uttered — Oh !  how  they  rent  her  heart ! 
— and  curious  eyes  had  scrutinized  the  widow's  face 
and  manner,  to  ascertain  how  keenly  she  felt  the  stroke. 
All  these  were  satisfied.  They  saw  her  glazed  eye, 
and  pallid  cheek ;  and  even  their  morbid  jealousy  for 
grief  could  exact  no  more. 

The  desolate  woman  returned,  with  her  children  to 
her  thenceforth  darkened  home. 

No  smiles  greeted  her  coming  now ;  but  great  hot 
tears  glistened  on  the  dark  cheeks  of  the  faithful  band 
that  came  forth  to  meet  her. 

Well  might  they  weep  that  their  only  protector  had 
fallen!  Where,  in  all  the  country  round,  could  be 
found  another  such  master  ?  His  servants  had  been, 
in  some  sense,  his  children;  subject,  it  is  true  to  his 


DEATH  OF  A  KIND  MASTEB.  133 

passions  and  caprices— and  who  is  free  from  these  ? 
Still  he  had  ever  protected  them  from  the  violence  of 
overseers  and  other  ruffians,  and  their  supply  of  whole- 
some food  and  comfortable  clothes  had  not  been  scant. 

Equally  kind,  and  even  more  indulgent,  had  been 
their  mistress,  and  she  was  spared  to  them.  But  now 
the  government  would,  partially,  at  least,  fall  into 
other  hands ;  there  was  no  will,  and  the  estate  must 
be  settled  according  to  law. 

Deeply,  notwithstanding  her  own  grief,  did  the  kind 
mistress  sympathize  with  her  people  in  their  peculiar 
sorrow ;  and  earnestly  did  she  resolve  to  do  her  ut- 
most to  alleviate  the  hardships  of  their  lot. 

Mr.  John  Gist,  a  brother  of  the  deceased,  proceeded 
to  administer  upon  the  estate,  while  Mrs.  Gist  remained 
on  the  place,  and  preserved,  as  far  as  possible,  the  ac- 
customed order  of  affairs. 

She  was  now  a  stately  woman,  of  somewhat  haughty 
presence,  and  with  an  eye  whose  lightning  few  would 
dare  to  brave.  Usually,  her  voice  was  gentle,  and  her 
manners  mild ;  but  when  the  helpless  were  outraged, 
she  summoned  all  her  powers  to  awe  and  to  command 
— for  their  relief.  One  instance  will  suffice  to  show 
her  spirit. 

It  was  Sunday  evening,  and  Peter  and  Allison,  who 
had  been  to  visit  some  of  their  friends  on  a  neighbor- 
ing plantation,  were  returning  home,  when,  to  make 
their  road  shorter,  they  crossed  a  field  belonging  to 
Col.  John  D . 

Now,  the  gallant  Colonel  had  made  a  law  that  no 
negro  belonging  to  his  neighbor,  should  cross  his  field 
on  Sunday ;  and  his  overseer,  named  S ,  by  chance 


181    THE  KIDNAPPED  AST)  THE  BANSOMED. 

spying  these  trespassers,  ran  after  them  cowhide  in 
hand. 

They  heard  him  on  their  track,  and  made  all  speed 
for  home.  Bounding  over  the  door-yard  fence,  they 
imagined  themselves  safe;  but  in  an  instant,  their 
pursuer  leaped  over  after  them,  and  even  followed 
them  to  the  kitchen,  where  they  hastened  to  take 
lefoge. 

Here  the  slaves  determined  to  do  battle,  and  one  of 
them  had  seized  the  rolling-pin,  and  the  other  a  large 
knife,  when  their  mistress,  hearing  the  tumult,  came 
to  the  door. 

The  overseer  quailed  beneath  her  haughty  eye. 
"  What  is  your  business  here,  sir,"  said  she,  in  a  voice 
steady  and  brave. 

He  explained  his  errand;  with  much  trepidation} 
however,  for  her  great  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him,  and 
her  majestic  form  seemed  to  grow  taller  every  instant. 

-"Well,  sir,"  said  she,  when  he  ceased  speaking, 
"  leave  these  premises  immediately,  and  let  this  be  the 
last  time  your  foot  approaches  my  house  on  such  an 
errand.  My  boys  are  not  subject  to  your  authority ; 
if  they  do  wrong,  it  is  not  your  business  to  punish 
them." 

The  overseer  departed  in  silence,  seeming  much 
smaller  in  his  own  eyes  than  he  had  appeared  an  hour 
before. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
LEVIN'S   DEATH. 

JUST  a  year  after  the  death  of  his  master,  Levin's 
health,  which  had  been  poor  for  several  years,  began 
rapidly  to  decline ;  and  it  was  soon  plain  to-  all  who 
saw  him  that  his  work  was  done. 

His  sufferings  soon  became  intense,  bnt  he  endured 
them  with  great  patience.  Levin  was  a  Christian. 
His  intellect,  it  is  true,  had  possessed  few  means  of  de- 
velopment, but  he  had  heard  of  the  Lamb  that  was 
slain.  Upon  that  bleeding  sacrifice  his  hopes  had  long 
been  fixed ;  and  though  in  much  ignorance  and  weak- 
ness, yet  earnestly  had  he  sought  to  follow  his  Re- 
deemer. Now  as  the  death-hour  approached,  he  heard 
a  voice,  saving,  "  My  peace  I  give  unto  you,  not  as 
the  world  giveth,  give  I  unto  you;w  and,  calmly  re- 
HJgnTng  himself  into  His  arms  who  is  a  SaviouT^>f  the 
weakest  and  the  lowliest^  he  waited  quietly  the  coming 
of  the  last  Messenger. 

Poor  Fanny  was  permitted  to  spend  the  last  days  by 
his  side.  This  was  a^great  comfort  to  both,  for  they 
had  suffered  much  for  each  other,  and  it  was  very  hard 
to  part  so  soon.  But  Levin  talked  so  sweetly  of  the 
green  fields  and  still  waters  of  that  better  land,  that 


136          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

she  could  not  wish  to  prolong  his  painful  sojourn 
here. 

It  was  the  twenty-eighth  of  December.  Peter  had 
gone  to  Bainbridge,  to  make  his  usual  Christmas  visit 
to  his  wife  and  little  ones,  and  by  the  bed-side  of  her 
dying  husband  sat  the  devoted  Fanny.  Yet,  though 
her  eye  watched  every  sign  of  change,  she  knew  not 
that  he  was  departing. 

Sadly  she  gazed  upon  his  placid  face.  Ah !  did  he 
not  look  happy  ?  Why  should  she  weep  ? — and  yet 
the  tears  would  flow. 

"  Call  Peter,  Fanny,"  said  he,  suddenly  waking  from 
a  gentle  sleep. 

"  Peter's  gone  to  Bainbridge." 

A  shade  of  disappointment  passed  over  his  face — 
for  a  few  moments  he  remained  silent.  Then  sud- 
denly, with  all  his  strength  he  cried,  "  Peter !  Peter  ! 
O,  Peter  1" 

But  the  loved  brother  answered  not.  Ah!  little 
thought  he,  as  he  sat  fondling  his  children,  and  hold- 
ing pleasant  converse  with  their  mother,  that  poor 
Levin's  heart,  even  at  that  hour,  was  breaking. 

There  was  but  a  slight  struggle, — a  faint  gasp, — and 
the  freed  spirit  of  the  lowly  slave  was  carried  by  the 
angels  into  Abraham's  bosom. 

They  placed  the  lifeless  form  in  a  rude  coffin,  and 
bore  it  to  its  lowly  grave.  No  stone  marks  his  resting 
place ;  no  fragrant  flowers  adorn  the  sod  that  covers 
his  silent  house.  Yet  he  sleeps  sweetly  there.  The 
loud  horn  of  the  overseer  reaches  not  his  ear  at  dawn ; 
the  harsh  tone  of  command  and  the  bitter  blasphemous 
curse  break  not  his  peaceful  slumbers. 

The  death  of  this  dear  brother  cast  a  heavy  gloom 


LEVIN'S  DEATH.  137 

upon  Peter's  spirits.  He  felt  that  he  was  now  alone. 
The  memories  of  their  early  childhood,  of  their 
mother's  love,  and  of  the  sad;  sad  day  when  they  were 
stolen  from  their  home,  there  was  now  none  to  share. 
And  the  fond  hope,  which  through  all  their  years  of 
bondage  had  lived  far  down  in  some  hidden  recess  of 
his  heart — even  that  one  hope  went  out — and  all  was 
dark. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 
THE    JAUNT    TO    FLORIDA. 

PATIENTLY,  month  after  month,  Aunt  Sally  pur- 
sued her  labors  on  the  plantation  of  Mr.  Peoples.  She 
had  a  kind  master,  and  her  boys  were  near  her,  as  was 
also  Uncle  Moses,  the  husband  of  her  latter  years. 
Of  poor  Silas,  to  whom  her  heart's  young  affections 
had  been  given,  she  never  heard.  He  might  be  dead, 
and — oh !  what  torture  in  the  thought ! — he  might  be 
enduring  sufferings  compared  with  which,  even  death 
itself  were  naught.  She  could  only  pray  for  his  weal ; 
and  trust,  as  she  ever  found  it  sweet  to  do,  to  that  com- 
passionate father,  who  loves  the  prayers  of  the  humble, 
while  "  the  proud  he  knoweth  afar  off." 

But  it  was  concerning  her  daughter  that  Aunt 
Sally's  spirit  was  most  deeply  troubled.  She  was  so 
young  to  be  taken  away — and  alone  among  strangers 
too — how  often  would  she  need  her  mother's  sympathy 
and  counsel ! 

"  Well,"  said  she  to  Uncle  Moses,  at  the  close  of  one 
of  their  frequent  conversations  on  the  subject.  "  I's 
mighty  glad  de  pore  chile  done  got  married.  'Pears 
like  she  wont  be  so  lonesome  now.  I'd  like  to  see  her 
ole  man.  But  her  missus — she's  a  screamer.  Laws ! 
Vine  say  de  little  gal  whar  waits  in  de  house  gits  her 
back  cut  up  powerful,  and  she's  a  sickly  little  thing. 
Hi  I  wont  dem  kind  o'  ladies  cotch  it  mightily  when 

D38] 


THE   JAUNT   TO   FLORIDA.  139 

de  "bad  man  gits  'em  ?  Beckon  he  wont  think  dey's 
so  mons's  nice,  kase  dey's  white.  De  Lord  years  all 
de  screams  o'  his  chilluns,  and  he  aint  gwine  put  harps 
o'  gold  in  dem  dare  hands,  whar,  allers  a  playin  wid  de 
cowhide  yer." 

There  were  at  this  time  two  sets  of  slaves  on  Mr. 
Peoples'  place;  his  own,  and  those  belonging  to  the 
estate  of  a  deceased  brother,  with  whom  he  had  been 
in  partnership.  Many  of  these  were  united  by  family 
ties,  and  all  .were  strongly  attached  to  each  other,  as 
they  had  lived  together  for  many  years. 

Suddenly,  late  in  the  autumn  of  1827,  the  gloomy 
tidings  came  among  them  that  they  were  to  be  sepa- 
rated. Their  master,  having  heard  tempting  accounts 
of  the  beauty  and  fertility  of  Florida's  fair  plains,  had 
determined  to  remove  there  with  his  working  hands  : 
while  those  belonging  to  his  brother's  estate,  as  well  as 
the  children  and  any  that  were  unfit  for  labor,  should 
•remain  on  the  home  place,  in  the  guardianship  of  an 
overseer. 

Aunt  Sally  was  overwhelmed  with  sorrow.  She 
was  more  fortunate  than  many  of  her  companions,  for 
her  husband  and  her  oldest  son  were  to  go  with  her ; 
but  poor  Quail  must  stay  behind,  and  Vina— she  had 
not  seen  her  for  two  years.  She  longed  to  make  her  a 
farewell  visit,  but  such  was  now  the  haste  to  secure 
the  crop,  and  to  complete  the  needful  preparations  for 
the  journey,  that  she  could  not  go  even  to  "tell"  her 
darling  child  "good-bye." 

The  master  strove  to  comfort  them  by  the  promise 
that  they  should  some  day  return  ;  or,  if  he  liked  the 
country  so  well  as  to  wish  to  remain  in  Florida,  then 
their  friends  should  come  to  them.  But  the  dim  hope 


140          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

in  the  distant  future  could  not  dispel  the  present  gloom ; 
and  with  bitter  lamentations  fond  mothers  pressed  their 
weeping  children  to  their  aching  breasts,  and  loving 
husbands  turned  back /or  one  more  look  on  those  dear 
faces  which  they  never  more  might  see. 

They  have  gone  !  Their  friends  stand  mournfully 
watching  the  sad  procession  till  it  passes  out  of  sight, 
and  their  stricken  hearts  breathe  earnest  prayers  for 
the  safe  keeping  of  their  dearest  treasures. 

Yina  did  not  hear  of  Mr.  Peoples'  intended  removal 
till  his  family  had  already  arrived  in  Florida  ;  and  her 
grief  was  then  extreme.  To  lose  her  mother  thus, 
without  receiving  so  much  as  a  parting  message,  was 
harder  far  than  all  her  previous  trials.  Not  even  the 
laughing  prattle  of  her  little  Peter  could  dispel  this 
heavy  sorrow;  not  even  her  husband's  love  could 
soothe  her  aching  heart. 

But  a  kind  Providence  was  better  to  them  than  their 
fears.  Mr.  Peoples  did  not  like  Florida ;  and  when  he 
had  "  made  one  crop,"  he  returned  with  all  his  slaves 
in  glad  procession,  to  his  former  home. 

Ah  !  earth  is  not  all  gloomy,  for  there  be  sometimes 
glad  reunions,  when  the  partings  have  been  dismal — 
hopeless.  There  be  transient  gleams  of  joy,  though 
misery  hath  hung  her  heavy  clouds  over  all  the  sky. 
There  is  an  Infinite  Father  who  looketh  down  in  love 
on  the  weakest  of  his  children ;  and  though  he  suffer 
them  to  drink  a  bitter  cup,  he  often  mingles  therewith 
rare  drops  of  sweetness. 

The  summer  following  her  return  from  Florida,  Aunt 
Sally  paid  a  visit  to  her  daughter. 

What  changes  have  been  wrought  during  the  four 
years  that  had  passed  since  she  had  seen  her  child- 


THE   JAUNT   TO   FLORIDA.  lil 

Vina  had  grown  quite  tall,  and  her  face,  instead  of  the 
timidity  and  sadness  that  then  marked  its  expression, 
now  wore  a  careful  mother-look.  Poor  child !  she  was 
not  strong,  and  the  fatiguing  labor  of  the  hot  summer 
days,  together  with  the  care  which  her  two  children 
claimed  at  night,  taxed  her  exertions  to  the  utmost. 

Aunt  Sally  had  not  been  long  on  the  plantation,  be- 
fore she  learned  the  policy  pursued  by  Mr.  McKiernan 
towards  his  slaves.  Their  lot  was  truly  hard.  Not  an 
article  of  furniture  or  clothing  did  they  receive  from 
their  master,  except,  that  once  a  year  he  gave  a  coarse 
plantation  suit  to  such  as  were  old  enough  to  work. 
Even  this,  however,  was  sometimes  withheld,  and  then 
those  who  had  no  means  of  procuring  garments  for 
themselves,  went  to  their  daily  tasks  in  such  a  ragged 
filthy  state,  that  the  more  respectable  of  the  overseers 
could  not  endure  their  presence.  Several  of  these,  at 
different  times,  left  the  plantation,  for  no  other  reason 
than  that  they  could  not  stay  in  the  field  with  such  a 
miserable  gang  of  negroes. 

Little  cared  the  master  for  their  departure.  Others 
were  always  ready  to  be  hired,  who  heeded  not  such 
trifles,  so  that  they  could  have  full  power  over  the 
half-naked  wretches  that  instinctively  recoiled  at  their 
approach. 

But  Vina  and  her  children,  thanks  to  Peter's  indus- 
try and  self-denial,  had  always  decent  clothing,  and 
their  cabin  boasted  many  convenient  articles  of  furni- 
ture, such  as  slaves  seldom  possess.  They  had  also 
better  food  than  most  of  their  companions,  for  to  the 
scant  allowance  of  bacon  and  corn  meal  which  was 
doled  out  to  Vina  on  Sunday  mornings,  Peter  often 


142          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

found  means  to  add  a  little  coffee  and  sugar,  or  a  few 
pounds  of  flour. 

All  this  Aunt  Sally  Jearned  during  her  short  stay, 
and  for  each  kindness  thus  bestowed  upon  her  child, 
she  rendered  thanks  to  Him,  whose  hand  she  recog- 
nized in  every  good. 

Too  soon  the  time  allotted  to  this  precious  visit 
passed  away ;  yet  much  of  hope  lingered  in  the  sad 
farewell.  "  Dat  dar  jaunt  to  Florida,"  Aunt  Sally 
thought,  had  cured  her  master  of  his  thirst  for  novelty ; 
and  now,  she  trusted,  she  should  never  more  be  widely 
separated  from  her  daughter. 

Vina's  eyes  were  dim,  as  from  her  cabin  door,  she 
watched  her  mother's  departing  form.  A  heavy  sad- 
ness oppressed  her  spirits  ;  and  the  kind  voice  of  her 
husband,  who  stood  beside  her,  could  scarce  dispel  her 
gloom.  But  many  little  motherly  duties  claimed  her 
thoughts.  Young  Peter  wanted  his  supper,  while  little 
Levin  raised  his  pleading  voice  to  beg  for  her  attend- 
ance ;  and  soon  the  pleasure  of  contributing  to  the 
comfort  of  those  she  loved  restored  her  accustomed 
cheerfulness. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 
A   SLAVE    MOTHER'S    "QOOD-BYE." 

AUNT  SALLY  rode  briskly  homeward.  She  had 
not  felt  so  happy  in  many  years  as  now.  Her  children 
were  all  comfortably  situated ;  even  Yina,  about  whom 
she  had  been  so  anxious,  had  now  so  kind  a.  husband, 
and'  such  fine  "peart"  children,  that  she  could  no 
longer  repine  at  her  lot. 

A  few  weeks  glided  calmly  on.  Summer  stole 
noiselessly  away,  and  Autumn  came  with  quiet  steps, 
to  cool  the  parched  earth. 

The  cotton  fields  grew  brown  with  age,  and  snowy, 
tufts  burst  from  the  ripened  bolls.     Tremulous  they 
hung — those  fleecy  tassels — and  the  cool  breeze,    as. 
with  mock  sympathy  it  sighed  among  the  withering 
leaves,  lingered  to  whisper  softly  to  these  fair  strangers, 
and  toss  in  amorous  sport  their  dainty  tresses. 

The  crops  were  all  gathered  in.  Beside  the  gin- 
house  lay  great  heaps  of  hoary  cotton-seed,  and  the 
mighty  press  had  uttered  the  last  creak  of  the  season. 
Under  a  shed  hard-by,  the  old-fashioned,  tight-laced 
bales  were  huddled  close  together,  and  yet  it  was  not 
winter. 

The  hands  upon  the  place  were  very  proud.  There 
was  not  another  plantation  in  all  the  country  round, 

(U3> 


144  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

but  had  great  fields,  where  still  in  fleecy  clusters  the 
precious  cotton  gleamed.         • 

It  is  night — and  the  people  are  all  in  their  cabins. 
The  smiles  of  triumph  which  but  a  few  hours  since 
brightened  their  faces  have  departed,  and  a  wail  of 
anguish  resounds  through  all  the  quarter.  Mr. 
Peoples  has  bought  a  sugar  farm  away  down  on  tho 
dreadful  Gulf  Coast,  and  thither  his  slaves  are  all  to  be 
conveyed,  as  soon  as  they  can  make  the  necessary  pre- 
parations for  the  journey. 

Look !  Aunt  Sally  comes  forth  alone  from  her 
cabin  door.  Tears  are  upon  her  cheeks,  and  her 
breast  is  convulsed  with  sorrow. 

She  walks  slowly  and  with  drooping  head  along  a 
narrow  footpath  leading  to  the  woods.  She  kneels 
upon  the  rustling  leaves.  Oh !  with  what  humble 
trustfulness  she  offers  her  agonized  petitions !  Has 
she  heard  that  it  is  written,  "Like  as  a  father  pitieth 
his  children,  so  the  Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  Him  ?" 

The  preparations  for  emigration  were  conducted 
with  the  bustle  and  confusion  usual  on  large  planta- 
tions. There  were  full  three  hundred  slaves;  and 
their  master  intended  to  carry  along  provisions  suffi- 
'cient  for  one  year's  consumption,  as  well  as  corn  for 
the  horses,  mules  and  cattle.  Then  all  the  utensils 
of  the  farm  were  collected  and  repaired ;  and  each 
family  had  to  arrange  its  own  little  store  of  clothes 
and  furniture. 

During  the  day,  the  constant  occupation  of  the 
slaves  prevented  the  contemplation  of  their  gloomy 
prospects.  At  night,  however,  they  had  time  to  think ; 
and  then  the  torrent  of  their  grief  broke  forth  afresh. 
In  every  cabin  might  be  heard  the  voice  of  weeping ; 


A  SLAVE  MOTHER'S  "GOOD-BYE."  145 

and  the  rude  pallets,  on  which '  reposed  their  weary 
limbs,  were  wet  with  bitter  tears. 

When  all  was  ready,  and  the  cattle  and  stores  had 
been  conveyed  to  the  river's  bank,  then  came  the  final 
leave-taking.  Husbands  and  wives,  brothers  and 
sisters,  parents  and  children,  who  belonged  on  neigh- 
boring plantations,  came  with  sobs  and  tears  to  say 
"  farewell"  to  those  whose  hearts  were  breaking. 

Aunt  Sally  came  hurriedly,  with  a  small  bundle  in 
her  hand,  Afrom  her  empty  cabin.  Hastily  she  walked 
along  the  road  to  Courtland,  and  paused  not  until  she 

Reached  the  residence  of  Mr.  B ,  where  dwelt  her 

youngest  child. 

Poor  Quail !  henceforth  he  would  be  motherless !  He 
saw  her  form  approaching,  and  ran  to  meet  her.  Oh ! 
the  tender  agony  of  that  last  long  embrace. 

He  was  her  darling  boy,  how  could  she  leave  him? 
He  clung  around  her  neck.  She  felt  his  warm  breath 
on  her  cheek.  O  Saviour !  pity  them !  It  is  their  last 
fond  meeting — their  last  heart-crushed  "  good  bye." 

With  desperate  strength  she  tore  herself  from  his 
arms;  and  with  one  prayer  to  Heaven  to  bless  and 
keep  her  boy,  she  thrust  the  little  bundle  into  his 
powerless  hand,  and  hastened  on  to  join  her  gloomy 

comrades. 

• 

The  rendezvous  was  Bainbridge.  To  this  point  some 
came  on  foot,  and  others  on  the  boats  over  the  shoals. 
Here  they  were  obliged  to  wait  till  all  the  boats  ar- 
rived ;  and  now  a  faint  hope  sprang  up  in  Aunt  Sally's 
heart  that  she  might  yet  see  her  daughter.  She  deter- 
mined at  least  to  make  one  effort. 

A  gentleman  on  horseback  was  slowly  riding  by. 
It  was  Andrew  Gist.  Hastily  she  approached  him. 


146         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

He  pitied  her  evident  distress,  and  listened  kindly  to 
the  recital  of  her  sorrows. 

"  So  your  daughter  is  at  McKiernan's.  "What  is  her 
name  ?" 

"  Her  name  Vina,  Sir." 

"  Vina  ?  why  that  is  Peter's  wife." 

"  Yes,  Sir,  her  man  name  Peter.  He  belongs  to  Mars 
Levi  Gist." 

"  "Well,  I'll  find,  her  myself,  and  send  her  down  to 
see  you.  Come,  cheer  up,  Auntie,  you'll  have  good 
times  yet." 

The  field  where  Mr.  McKiernan's  people  Avere  at 
work  was  three  miles  from  the  landing,  but  the  Ken- 
tuckian's  fine  horse  soon  bore  him  there. 

"  Which  of  you  all  has  a  mother  at  Peoples'  ?"  said 
he,  as  he  rode  up  to  a  group  of  women. 

"  It's  Vina's  mother  whar  lives  dar,  Sir : — yon's 
Vina,"  replied  a  young  girl,,  pointing  as  she  spoke,  to 
the  object  of  his  search.  She  was  working  alone,  at  a 
short  distance  from  her  companions,  and  did  not  look 
up  till  she  was  addressed. 

"Howd'y' Vina,  does  your  mother  belong  to  Peo- 
ples?" 

"Yes,  Sir." 

"  Well,  if  you  go  down  to  tte  landing,  you'll  see  the 
last  of  her,  I  reckon,  for  she's  going  down  the  river. 
Peoples  is  moving  down  to  the  coast." 

He  rode  away,  and  Vina  gazed  after  him  in  speech- 
less terror.  Her  mother — the  coast — could  it  be  ?  One 
moment  she  started  towards  the  overseer  to  ask  permis- 
sion to  go  to  the  river — the  next  her  courage  failed 
her,  and  she  felt  sure  he  would  not  let  her  go.  She 


A  SLAVE  MOTHER'S  "GOOD-BYE."  147 

tried  to  work,  but  her. limbs  seemed  palsied,  ai.d  her 
eyes  were  full  of  blinding  tears. 

After  nearly  an  hour  had  passed,  she  summoned  all 
her  strength,  and  left  the  field.  With  fearful  steps  she 
walked  to  the  house,  and  fortunately  her  master  and 
mistress  were  both  at  home.  She  told  them  what  Mr. 
Gist  had  said,  and  to^hed  with  pity,  they  bade  her  go 
immediately  to  the  landing,  and  stay  with  her  mother 
as  long  as  the  boats  remained. 

A  strange  picture  met  her  eye  as  she  approached  the 
river.  Along  the  bank  in  the  dim  twilight,  gleamed 
the  blaze  of  numerous  fires,  and  around  these  were 
gathered  groups  of  unhappy  slaves.  Some  were  cook- 
ing their  simple  suppers,  and  others  close  huddled 
together,  warmed  their  benumbed  limbs,  while  they 
bewailed,  in  low  sad  tones,  their  gloomy  destiny.  Mo- 
thers hovered  tenderly  over  the  dear  little  ones  that 
never  more  might  hear  their  fathers'  voices,  and  here 
and  there,  like  a  majestic  tree  by  lightning  blasted, 
stood  a  lone  father,  who  had  left  all — wife,  children, 
hope,  behind. 

Yina  paused,  and  listened,  but  in  the  sad  murmur 
that  met  her  ear  she  heard  not  her  mother's  voice.  She 
passed  on.  Four  large  flat  boats  were  tied  to  the  bank, 
and  one  of  these  she  timidly  entered. 

A  great  fire  was  glowing  at  the  further  end  of  the 
boat,  and  dark  figures  were  moving  slowly  about  in 
the  uncertain  light.  She  heard  no  mirthful  voices,  no 
gay  laugh ;  but  heavy  sighs  and  mournful  wailings 
filled  her  ears. 

On  a  low  stool  near  the  fire  sat  a  female  figure.  Her 
bowed  head  rested  on  both  her  hands,  and  her  body 
swayed  to  and  fro,  in  unison  with  the  melancholy 


148          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   KANSOMED. 

measure  of  her  thoughts.  Vina  came  very  near.  She 
paused.  Aunt  Sally  raised  her  head,  and  with  a  cry, 
half  joy — half  anguish,  she  clasped  her  daughter  to 
her  breast. 

"  0  my  chile !  I's  studyin'  'bout  you,  whether  I's 
ever  gwine  see  you  agin  or  not,"  and  she  sobbed  aloud. 
"  Oh!  how  can  I  go  and  leave  you,  honey?  I  shan't 
xnever  come  back  no  more !  'Way  down  on  de  sugar 
farm  I  shall  die,  and  der  wont  be  no  daughter  dar  to 
see  'em  lay  me  in  de  grave  I" 

Long  sat  Vina  and  her  mother  close  together,  con- 
versing in  low  tones,  and  weeping  over  their  sad  doom. 

The  slaves  who  had  been  gathered  around  the  fires 
upon  the  bank  came  in,  and  wrapping  themselves  in 
their  blankets,  lay  down  to  sleep. 

As  midnight  approached,  it  was  announced  that  the 
boats  would  probably  not  leave  Bainbridge  until  Mon- 
day morning ;  and  Aunt  Sally  obtained  permission  of 
the  overseer  who  had  charge,  to  go  home  with  her 
daughter,  and  spend  the  next  day  which  was  Saturday, 
at  her  cabin.  Immediately  they  left  the  boat,  and 
hastened  home. 

The  hours  of  that  short  Saturday  passed  swiftly  by, 
and  at  night  Vina  accompanied  her  mother  back  to  the 
boat.  There  she  left  her,  promising  to  come  again  in 
the  morning,  that  they  might  spend  one  more  day 
together. 

The  dawn  of  the  Sabbath-day  saw  the  affectionate 
daughter  on  her  way  to  the  river.  She  walked  rapidly, 
for  every  minute  of  that  day  was  precious. 

She  comes  in  sight  of  the  landing.  "Why  does  she 
pause  ?  and  Oh !  what  means  that  heavy  groan  ? 

The  boats  have  gone !     The  fires  are  smouldering 


A  SLAVE  MOTHER'S  "GOOD-BYE."         149 

on  the  bank.  Here  and  there  lies  a  fragment  of  hoe- 
cake  or  a  bit  of  an  old  blanket  that  has  been  forgotten. 
All  is  silent. 

Slowly  the  freighted  boats  pursued  their  way  be- 
tween the  lonely  banks  of  the  Tennessee.  The  trees 
that  overhung  the  stream  shivered  as  they  saw  their 
leafless  branches  in -the  still  clear  water,  but  the  bright 
mistletoe  clung  closely  to  the  desolate  trunks,  and 
strove,  with  its  rich  green,  to  hide  their  rigid  outlines. 

Slowly  they  floated  on.  The  broad  Ohio  bore  them 
on  her  breast  to  the  Father  of  "Waters,  and  still  they 
stayed  not.  The  tall  cotton-woods  that  guard  the 
Mississippi's  banks  listened  to  the  murmur  of  the 
slaves'  sad  voices ;  and  every  breeze  they  met  went 
sighing  past  as  though  it  sorrowed  with  them. 

Their  fears  were  all  too  true.  The  sugar  farm  upon 
the  coast  was  to  them  as  the  "Yalley  of  the  Shadow 
of  Death." 

So  many  of  his  slaves  died  during  the  first  year,  that 
Mr.  Peoples,  when  he  had  made  one  crop  of  cane,  sold 
his  plantation  and  left  the  coast.  He  could  not  endure 
to  see  his  faithful  servants  dying  there,  even  though 
he  knew  the  profits  of  the  business  would  enable  him 
to  buy  others  in  their  stead.  So  he  purchased  a  plan- 
tation in  the  north  part  of  Mississippi,  and  returned, 
with  the  remnant  of  his  people,  to  the  culture  of  corn 
and  cotton. 

Here,  after  several  years,  Aunt  Sally  sank  peace- 
fully to  her  last,  long  slumber.  She  had  no  dread  of 
Death.  Long  had  she  waited  for  his  coming;  and 
now  that  she  knew  he  hovered  near,  her  heart  was 
filled  with  holy  joy,  and  all  who  saw  the  light  of  love 
and  hope  that  beamed  from  her  faded  eye,  knew  well 


150          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

that  she  had  been  with  Jesus.  And  when  her  pulse 
was  still,  and  her  cold  hands  lay  meekly  folded  across 
her  breast,  a  heavenly  smile  still  lingered  on  her  face ; 
blest  token  that  her  weary  spirit  had  reached  at  length 
that  happy  home  where  she  had  so  longed  to  rest. 

Her  master,  who,  during  her  sickness,  had  done  all 
in  his  power  for  her  comfort,  wrote  to  inform  her  ab- 
sent children  of  her  decease.  He  told  them  of  her 
faith  and  patience,  and  of  her  final  triumph  over  the 
terrors  of  the  grave;  and  added  that  he  provided  a 
neat  shroud  and  coffin  for  her  sleeping  dust,  and 
buried  her  with  every  token  of  respect. 

Happy  Aunt  Sally.  She  had  never  known  other 
than  the  "  sunny  side"  of  slavery.  Neither  of  her 
masters  had  been  capable  of  wanton  cruelty,  and  her 
excellent  character  had  made  her  a  favorite  with  both. 
Yet  the  system  of  slavery  cursed  her  life.  It  bereaved 
her  of  the  husband  of  her  youth,  and  robbed  her  of  her 
beloved  children.  It  tore  her  from  scenes  endeared  by 
association  with  all  her  pleasures,  and  dragged  her 
away  into  strange  lands,  of  which,  from  her  childhood, 
she  had  heard  nought  but  tales  of  horror. 

And  for  all  these,  what  compensation  reaped  she 
from  the  institution.  Verily,  none — save  such  as  is 
bestowed  upon  the  faithful  ox.  Even  the  unusual 
kindness  of  her  master  could  grant  no  other  boon  than 
a  shroud,  a  coffin,  and  a  promised  letter  to  tell  her 
children  that  they  were  motherless. 

Such  is  a  "  South  Side  View" 


CHAPTER    XIX. 
THE    MISTRESS'    SECOND    MARRIAGE. 

ON  the  twelfth  of  November,  1833,  Mrs.  Gist  was 
married  to  Mr.  John  Hogun,  a  man  more  than  twenty 
years  her  senior.  He  possessed  few  personal  attrac- 
tions, and  still  fewer  intellectual  or  social  accomplish- 
ments. But  he  owned  two  large  plantations,  one  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Mrs.  Gist's  residence,  and  another 
in  Mississippi.  Both  of  these  were  well  stocked,  the 
slaves  numbering  more  than  one  hundred. 

The  marriage  of  their  beloved  mistress  caused  great 
grief  among  the  slaves  on  the  plantation,  for  it  fore- 
shadowed the  partings  that  must  come. 

The  servants,  thirty-four  in  number,  were  to  be 
divided  equally  between  the  mother  and  her  four 
children  (one  daughter  was  born  after  her  father's 
death).  In  order  to  this,  they  were  placed  in  five  lots, 
and  these  were  so  arranged  as  to  keep  the  families 
together.  These  lots  were  not  of  equal  value ;  but  the 
discrepancy  was  to  be  made  up  by  a  corresponding 
difference  in  the  distribution  of  the  other  property,  so 
that  the  revolting  scenes  of  an  auction  might  be 
avoided. 

The  mistress   drew  first.      Old  Frank,  and  Aunt 

[151] 


152          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

Peggy,  with  their  three  daughters,  together  with  a 
yellow  boy  named  Nelson,  fell  to  her  share.  She  felt 
disappointed,  for  she  had  always  hoped  to  retain  Peter 
in  her  service;  but  notwithstanding  he  loved  and 
honored  his  mistress,  he  was  grateful  that  he  had  not 
fallen  under  the  dominion  of  her  husband.  The  re- 
maining lots  were  not  drawn  at  that  time,  as  the  chil- 
dren were  still  very  young. 

About  a  month  after  the  marriage — a  sad  and 
gloomy  month  to-  all  upon  the  place — Mrs.  Hogun, 
with  her  children  and  servants,  left  the  quiet  home 
where  she  had  spent  so  many  happy  hours,  and  went 
to  the  residence  of  her  husband. 

This  was  a  large  framed  house,  situated  on  a  rich 
plantation,  about  four  miles  from  her  late  abode,  and 
four  and  a  half  miles  from  Tuscumbia.  The  former 
Mrs.  Hogun  had  been  dead  four  or  five  years,  and  her 
eldest  daughter,  Miss  Louisa,  had  since  her  decease, 
presided  at  her  father's  table.  This  young  lady  was 
married  soon  after  her  father,  and  there  were  then 
three  children  left  at  home,  John,  Kobert,  and  Thir- 
muthis. 

Mr.  Hogun  was  emphatically  a  hard  man.  His 
heart  knew  no  mercy  to  those  upon  whom  the  laws  of 
his  State,  as  well  as  the  customs  of  surrounding  society 
allowed  him  to  trample.  To  his  own  children  he  was 
ever  indulgent;  to  his  neighbors  and  acquaintances, 
smooth-tongued  and  polite;  but  he  had  a  will  that 
could  not  brook  resistance,  and  a  temper  which,  when 
roused,  was  capable  of  inflicting  any  cruelty.  He  con- 
sidered his  servants  as  his,  body  and  soul,  and  strove 
to  compel  them,  to  make  his  wishes  their  law  in  all 
things.  He  allowed  none  of  them  to  marry  off  the 


THE  MISTRESS'  SECOND  MARRIAGE.          153 

the  place,  and  by  watching  them  carefully,  and  pursu- 
ing prompt  measures,  he  usually  managed  to  bring 
them  together  according  to  his  mind. 

When  he  saw  a  young  man  and  woman  engaged  in 
any  little  sport  together,  or  noticing  each  other  in  any 
way,  if  he  thought  they  would  make  a  good  match,  he 
ordered  the  overseer  to  build  them  a  house.  Accord- 
ingly, on  the  first  convenient  day  thereafter,  a  sufficient 
number  of  the  hands  were  called  to  the  work,  and  the 
cabin  was  erected.  It  was  but  a  small  task  to  complete 
the  structure — one  little  log-room,  having  a  door  on 
one  side,  a  small  unglazed  window  with  a  wooden 
shutter  on  the  other,  and  at  one  end  a  chimney,  built 
of  sticks  and  smeared  with  mud.  Nothing  further  was 
considered  necessary.  The  ground  sufficed  for  all  the 
purposes  of  floor,  bed,  table,  and  chairs ;  unless  the 
inmates,  by  working  on  holidays,  or  by  selling  eggs  or 
chickens,  managed  to  procure  some  little  comforts  for 
themselves. 

When  the  house  was  finished,  the  master  ordered 
Bob,  the  head  man  to  bring  Joe  and  Phillis,  and  put 
them  into  their  house.  Then,  putting  a  small  padlock 
on  the  door,  he  gave  the  key  to  Bob,  saying,  "  Here, 
Bob,  I  have  put  my  seal  on  this  door ;  now  here  is  the 
key ;  you  keep  this  nigger  and  this  wench  together, 
or,  by  jings,  you'll  pay  for  it.  Do  you  make  Joe  build 
a  fire  for  Phillis,  and  see  that  Phillis  cooks  for  Joe, 
and  washes  his  clothes ;  and,  mind,  Bob,  I  shall  look 
to  you." 

No  expostulations  from  either  party  could  alter  his 
decree.  He  had  been  to  the  trouble  of  building  a  house 
for  them,  and  now  they  should  live  in  it,  or  take  the 
consequences  of  braving  his  authority. 


154          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

"When  such  were  the  marriage  rites,  what  must  have 
been  the  morals  of  the  place  ? 

The  slaves  on  this  plantation  were  worked  very 
hard.  Before  the  dawn  of  day  the  horn  was  sounded 
to  call  them  to  the  field,  and  in  hurrying  times,  they 
were  not  allowed  to  go  to  rest  till  late  at  night.  "Cot- 
ton,"— "  cotton" — was  ever  the  watchword  and  reply ; 
and  the  great  crops  which  they  "  made"  brought  wealth 
into  -the  master's  coffers,  while  they  drained  the  life- 
founts  of  the  toiling  slaves. 

One  year,  however,  they  had,  providentially,  a  little 
rest.  The  crop  was  nearly  destroyed  by  the  early 
frost,  very  few  bolls  ripening  at  all. 

Late  in  this  "  unlucky"  year,  a  gang  of  slaves  were 
one  day  repairing  the  fence  around  a  laVge  field,  and  a 
few  were  picking  the  cotton  from  the  scattering  bolls. 

"Well,  boys,"  said  the  overseer  of  a  neighboring 
plantation,  who  chanced  to  pass,  "  aint  you  sorry  you've 
got  no  cotton  to  pick  this  year  ?" 

"Ah!  no,  mass'r,"  replied  one  of  the  oldest  men, 
"  we's  mighty  glad  in  place  o'  bein'  sorry.  De  Lord 
has  done  a  mon's  good  work  for  us,  mass'r ;  if  he'd 
on'y  sent  de  fross  a  little  sooner,  we  wouldn't  had  none 
to  pick  at  all." 

The  overseer,  angered  by  the  old  man's  "impu- 
dence," cursed  him  bitterly. 

"  Yah,  yah,  mass'r,  'taint  no  use  bein'  mad,  I  reckon, 
kase  nobody  aint  to  blame  but  de  Lord,  %,nd  it  wont 
do  no  good  to  be  mad  wid  him ;  can't  skeer  him  a 
cussing,  no  how." 

For  six  years  after  the  marriage  of  their  mistress, 
the  slaves  belonging  to  the  Gist  estate  were  kept  upon 
the  plantation.  The  overseer  with  his  family  took 


THE   MISTEESS'   SECOND   MAREIAGE.  155 

possession  of  the  house  that  had  so  long'been  the  abode 
of  peace  and  happiness ;  and  everywhere  on  the  place 
a  new  order  of  things  was  established. 

Peter  was  made  foreman  of  the  hands,  which  posi- 
tion he  retained  as  long  as  the  family  of  slaves  was 
kept  together.  The  overseer  gave  him  his  orders  at 
night,  with  particular  directions  concerning  the  next 
day's  work.  In  the  morning  he  was  obliged  to  rise 
first,  to  call  his  fellow-servants  from  their  slumbers, 
and  to  see  that  each  was  in  his  place,  and  that  his 
his  work  was  properly  commenced.  All  day  he  took 
the  fore-row  and  led  his  gang.  At  night  it  was  his  busi- 
ness to  see  that  the  tools  they  had  used  were  safe  and 
in  order,  and  the  people  were  all  in  their  cabins, 
before  he  could  go  to  bed.  In  picking  time,  he  also 
was  obliged  each  night  to  weigh  the  cotton,  and  to 
report  to  the  overseer  the  number  of  pounds  which 
each  of  the  hands  had  picked.  His  extraordinary 
memory  was  now  a  great  advantage  to  him,  for  though 
he  could  not  write,  he  was  never  known  to  report 
erroneously  the  contents  of  the  baskets. 

The  loss  of  their  kind  master  was  keenly  felt  by  the 
slaves  during  all  these  years.  The  overseers,  always 
men  of  the  lowest  stamp  in  intellect  and  morals,  had 
full  sway.  If  they  succeeded  in  making  a  good  crop, 
they  satisfied  their  employers,  the  administrators  of  the 
estate ;  and  why  should  they  hesitate  to  use  any  means 
that  might  advance  this  end  ?  The  slaves,  men  and 
women,  were  therefore  required  to  labor  at  their  utmost 
strength ;  and  when  over-wearied,  they  found  no  sym- 
pathy. The  kind  word  of  encouragement  was  want- 
ing, the  voice  of  commendation  became  strange  unto 
their  ears. 


156          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   HANSOMED. 

In  the  year  1839,  it  was  thought  best,  by  the  guar- 
dians of  the  estate,  to  sell  the  plantation  and  to  hire 
out  the  negroes.  The  tidings  of  this  approaching 
change  in  their  condition  spread  a  panic  throughout  the 
little  community.  They  had  suffered  much  since  their 
master  died,  but  they  had  suffered  together.  Now  to 
be  scattered — they  could  not  bear  the  thought ! 

Many  were  the  consultations  which  they  held  together 
over  their  gloomy  prospects ;  but  none  could  suggest 
a  plan  of  escape  from  the  ills  that  threatened  them. 
They  could  only  submit  to  their  fate,  and  meet  what- 
ever awaited  them  with  patience — since  hope  had  fled. 

"Oh!"  thought  Peter,  "what's  the  use  in  livin' ? 
Mass'r  Levi's  gone,  and  Levin;  and  then  missus,  she 
must  go  too,  and  leave  us  all  without  nobody  to  care 
whether  we  lives  or  dies.  Here  I've  served  the  family 
so  many  years ;  and  now  I  must  go  to  wait  on  some 
strangers,  that  wont  care  for  nuthin'  only  to  git  all  the 
work  they  can  for  their  money.  Oh !  if  they  send  me 
off  where  I  can't  go  to  see  Vina,  it  '11  kill  her,  sure." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE   PLANTATION   "BROKEN    UP." 

THE  last  Christmas  came  which  these  doomed  people 
•were  to  spend  together  at  the  old  place,  and  instead  of 
the  mirth  which  usually  reigned  at  that  season,  mourn- 
ing and  weeping  filled  its  hours.  The  slaves  had  all 
been  hired  out  here  and  there,  and,  after  the  holidays, 
they  were  to  go  to  their  new  homes.  Fourteen  of  the 
number,  including  Peter,  were  destined  to  spend  the 
ensuing  year  on  the  plantation  of  a  Mr.  Threat,  about 
four  miles  from  Bainbridge. 

The  one  great  dread,  that  of  being  conveyed  still 
farther  from  his  wife,  was  now  removed,  but  other- 
wise his  situation  was  not  bettered.  Mr.  Threat  had 
immigrated  from  Virginia,  about  four  years  before,  and 
had  bought  a  small  plantation.  He  owned  no  slaves, 
and  was  therefore  obliged  to  hire  them  year  by  year. 

Peter,  having  led  the  hands  on  the  old  place,  was 
still  retained  as  head-man,  and  his  labors  were  in  no 
degree  diminished.  His  fare  too,  was  scanty,  for  the 
young  master  was  just  beginning  in  the  world,  and 
could  ill  afford  an  abundance  of  wholesome  food  to 
other  people's  negroes. 

The  Threat  family,  as  we  have  said,  came  from  Vir- 
ginia, and  though  the  young  man  to  whom  Peter  and 
his  companions  were  hired,  was  not  rich,  yet  his 

057} 


158          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

parents,  who  resided  in  the  neighborhood,  possessed  a 
competency.  His  mother,  we  should  have  said,  for  the 
elder  Mr.  Threat  had  failed  in  business  in  Virginia, 
and  his  property  was  all  sold  under  the  hammer.  Two 
brothers  of  his  wife,  men  of  great  wealth,  bid  it  in, 
and  settled  it  upon  their  sister  and  her  children ;  giv- 
ing to  her  the  entire  control  during  her  lifetime.  The 
family  then  removed  to  Alabama,  where  Mrs.  Threat 
assumed  the  reins  of  government.  Her  husband  lived 
with  her,  and  she  permitted  her  servants  to  wait  upon 
him,  but  in  business  matters,  he  was  not  consulted. 

Mrs.  Threat  kept  no  overseer,  and  hesitated  not  to 
show  her  subjects  that  the  sole  authority  over  them 
was  vested  in  herself,  and  that  her  arm  was  strong 
•  to  punish  their  transgressions.  She  frequently  rode 
over  her  fields  with  cowhide  and  rope  at  hand,  and  in- 
spected the  labor  of  her  slaves.  If  she  found  one  of 
them  dilatory  or  otherwise  remiss,  she  quickly  dis- 
mounted, and  ordered  him  to  strip.  Then  after  com- 
manding one  of  his  fellow  slaves  to  tie  him,  she  vigor- 
ously applied  the  cowhide  to  his  naked  back,  until  she 
deemed  that  he  had  expiated  his  offence. 

One  spring  morning,  while  Peter  was  hired  to  her 
son,  she  mounted  one  of  her  carriage  horses,  a  large 
bay,  and  rode  to  the  field.-  She  had,  the  day  before, 
whipped  a  large,  powerful  negro,  and  on  this  morning 
she  started  with  her  rope  and  cowhide,  intending  to  in- 
flict the  same  punishment  upon  another  who  had 
incurred  her  wrath.  But  when  she  had  nearly  reached 
the  spot  where  her  people  were  at  work,  her  horse  took 
fright,  and  springing  aside,  threw  her  to  the  ground. 
The  slaves  hastened  to  her  assistance.  They  bore  her 
home,  and  a  doctor  was  soon  summoned.  Her  hip 


THE   PLANTATION   " BKOKEN   UP."  159 

was  badly  injured,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  slio 
recovered.  Ever  after,  she  used  a  crutch,  and  dragged 
one  foot  after  her  when  she  walked.  Her  good  right 
arm,  however,  was  not  weakened,  as  the  scarred  backs 
of  many  of  her  slaves  could  testify. 

This  may  be  regarded  as  an  extraordinary  instance 
of  female  "  chivalry,"  but  in  truth,  similar  cases  are 
not  rare.  Frail,  delicate  ladies,  whom  one  would  in- 
stinctively shield  from  a  rude  breath  of  the  free  air, 
can  strip  and  tie  their  slaves,  both  men  and  women, 
and  beat  them  with  the  zest  of  a  base-born  overseer.* 

During  the  summer  which  Peter  spent  at  Mr. 
Threat's--!  840 — the  well  remembered  political  excite- 
ment of  "  Tippecanoe  and  Tyler  too,"  spread  through 
that  vicinity.  A  Convention  was  held  at  Tuscumbia, 
and  party  men  on  both  sides  were  loud  in  the  defence 
of  the  liberties  of  their  country.  Speeches  were  made, 
songs  were  sung;  and  each  busy  patriot  seemed  to 
imagine  himself  destined  to  save  the  nation  from  mis- 
rule and  consequent  destruction.  The  excitement  was 
contagious.  Ladies'  fair  hands  embroidered  banners, 
and  their  soft  voices  joined  in  the  exciting  songs  of 
the  times. 

The  slaves  could  not  remain  uninterested  listeners 
to  the  conversations  concerning  liberty  that  were  held 
everywhere — at  "the  dinner-table,  and  on  the  street. 
They  interpreted  literally  the  language  of  their  masters, 
and  in  their  simple  hearts  imagined  that  the  dawn  of 
liberty  had  come.  What  else  could  it  mean  ?  The 
white  people  were  already  free;  and  if  liberty  was  to 

*  In  making  this  assertion,  the  writer  relies  not  wholly  upon  in- 
formation derived  from  Peter,  but  speaks  also  from  personal 
knowledge. 


160          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

become  universal — and  people  on  each  side  declared  it 
would  become  so,  if  their  party  should  succeed  in  the 
election — then  the  4^ black  folks"  would  enjoy  its 
blessings,  "sure" 

On  Sundays  the  slaves  from  "town"  met  their 
plantation  friends  at  their  fish-traps  on  the  river,  and 
there  the  joyful  news  was  communicated — in  whispers 
at  first — but  as  they  became  more  certain  that  their 
hopes  were  well-grounded,  they  gradually  grew  bolder, 
till  at  length  they  dared  to  discuss  the  subject  in  their 
religious  meetings.  The  preachers  were  inspired  by 
this  bright  hope  of  freedom,  and  as  it  grew  nearer  its 
imagined  fulfilment  they  preached  it  to  their  people 
with  thrilling  eloquence. 

"  'Taint  no  dream,  nor  no  joke,"  cried  one  of  these ; 
"  de  time's  a'most  yer.  Der  won't  be  no  mo'  whippin', 
i  no  mo'  oversee's,  no  mo'  patrollers,  no  mo'  huntin'  wid 
dogs ;  everybody's  a  gwine  to  be  free,  and  de  white 
mass'r's  a  gwine  to  pay  'em  for  der  work.  0,  my 
brudders !  de  bressed  time's  a  knockin'  at  de  door ! 
De  good  Lord  '11  ramshackle  de  devil,  and  all  de  people 
in  dis  yer  world,  bof  white  and  black,  is  a  gwine  to 
live  togedder  in  peace." 

Alas  !  their  bright  visions  were  speedily  shadowed. 
Their  masters  learned  the  subject  of  their  earnest  dis- 
cussions, and  then  a  system  of  espionage  was  estab- 
lished, which  pursued  its  objects  with  a  vindictive 
energy  worthy  of  the  best  days  of  the  Inquisition. 

The  black  preachers  were  silenced ;  all  assembling 
of  the  slaves  forbidden;  and  patrols  established 
through  all  the  country.  Every  negro  encountered  by 
the  patrols  was  whipped,  if  he  had  no  pass ;  and  even 
that  important  slip  of  paper  often  lost  its  magic,  if  the 


THE    PLANTATION   BROKEN   UP.  161 

bearer  chanced  to  have  the  reputation  of  being  a  man 
of  spirit. 

A  panic  pervaded  the  whole  community.  "The 
negroes  intend  to  rise,"  was  whispered  with  white  lips 
by  timid  ladies  in  their  morning  visits ;  and  every  sigh 
of  the  night- wind  through  the  lofty  trees  was  inter- 
preted by  the  fearful  into  the  rush  of  black  assassins. 
Old  stories  of  negro  insurrections  were  revived,  and 
the  most  faithful  and  attached  servants  became  objects 
of  suspicion. 

This  excitement,  however,  like  that  to  which  it  owed 
its  origin,  at  length  passed  away.  The  few  old  privi- 
leges were  restored  to  the  slaves,  and  the  services  of 
the  patrols  were  no  longer  in  constant  requisition.  Yet 
the  confidence  of  the  slaveholder  is  always  imperfect, 
and  easily  shaken.  When  injustice  constitutes  the 
base  of  the  system,  how  can  faith  adorn  the  super- 
structure ? 

Some  of  the  better  class  of  servants  about  Tuscum- 
•bia  have  not  to  this  day  recovered  from  the  effects  of 
the  suspicions  which  they  then  incurred.  Many,  in 
their  joyful  excitement,  had  run  after  the  wagons  that 
bore  in  procession  the  log  cabin  with  its  admirers,  and 
cried,  "  The  year  of  jubilee  is  come !  We  all's  a  gwine 
to  be  free  !"  These  were  almost  crushed  by  the  dis- 
appointment, and  by  the  sufferings  consequent  on 
too  frank  an  expression  of  their  hopes.  They  were 
scourged  and  persecuted  in  a  manner  befitting  the  nature 
of  their  offence. 

Toward  the  close  of  1840,  Peter  was  hired  for 
the  ensuing  year  to  Mr.  McKiernan.  To  this  he  was 
greatly  opposed,  even  though  he  would  by  such  an 
arrangement  be  able  daily  to  enjoy  the  society  of  his 


162          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

family.  He  loved  his  wife  and  children  most  fondly, 
but  their  master  had  long  sought  to  buy  him,  and 
Peter  feared  that  if  he  went  there,  he  might  succeed  in 
accomplishing  his  wish.  The  idea  of  becoming  the 
property  of  such  a  man  was  dreadful  to  him,  and  this 
fear  shadowed  the  otherwise  bright  prospect  of  living 
constantly  with  his  beloved  Yina.  Yet  he  carefully 
concealed  his  feelings  on  the  subject  from  any  that 
would  report  them  to  Mr.  McKiernan.  His  wife  was 
in  the  tyrant's  power,  and  he  dared  not  offend  hint. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 
BABY   LIFE   IN    THE    CABINS. 

WE  left  Yina  at  the  landing  straining  her  weeping 
eyes  to  retain  the  images  of  the  flat-boats  that  were 
bearing  the  goods  of  Mr.  Peoples  down  the  river. 
Long  she  stood  gazing  there ;  even  till  the  last  faint 
outline  of  a  boat  was  lost,  and  then  with  swollen  eyes 
and  aching  heart  she  returned  to  her  cabin. 

She  had  then  two  children.  Peter,  the  eldest  was  a 
little  more  than  three  years  old,  and  Levin,  who  was 
born  on  the  twenty-fourth  of  June  previous,  had  seen 
about  six  months.  They  were  '•peart'  healthy  little 
fellows,  and  they  received  much  better  care  than  is 
usually  bestowed  upon  the  children  of  a  field  woman. 

At  that  time  there  was  no  old  woman  on  the  place 
to  take  care  of  the  children ;  and  every  mother,  when 
she  went  to  the  field  in  the  morning,  locked  her  little 
ones  in  her  cabin,  leaving  some  bread  where  they 
could  get  it  when  they  became  hungry.  Or,  if  there 
was  one  too  small  to  help  itself  to  bread,  the  thought- 
ful mother  tied  a  little  mush  in  a  rag  upon  its  finger, 
so  that  when,  as  babies  will,  it  thrust  its  finger  in  its 
mouth,  it  could  suck  the  mush  through  the  rag,  and 
that  would  keep  it  quiet. 

Sometimes,  when  the  day  was  very  hot,  the  mothers 

[163] 


164          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

left  their  cabin  doors  open,  that  the  little  ones  might 
have  air.  Then  those  that  were  able  would  creep  out 
over  the  low  threshold,  and  perhaps  fall  asleep  on  the 
hot  ground.  "  Many's  the  tune,"  says  Vina,  "  I  come 
home  and  find  my  baby  sleepin'  with  the  sun  a  beatin' 
on  its  head,  enough,  'peared  like,  to  addle  its  brains." 

Yery  few  infants  lived  on  this  plantation.  The 
mothers  were  obliged  to  work  so  hard  before  their 
birth,  and  so  often  suffered  cruel  beatings  while  in  a 
situation  that  required  the  utmost  kindness,  that  most 
of  the  children,  if  born  alive,  died  in  spasms  when  a 
few  days  old. 

When  Yina's  children  were  small,  not  an  article  of 
clothing  was  provided  for  them  by  the  master,  till  they 
were  old  enough  to  be  employed  in  some  light  work 
about  the  house.  Their  mother  might  manage  to 
clothe  them,  or  let  them  go  naked.  But  for  the  last 
few  years,  they  have  lost  so  many  in  consequence  of 
the  total  lack  of  necessaries,  that  now  they  give  each 
mother  clothing  for  her  child.  But  if  the  baby  dies, 
every  little  garment  must  be  carried  back  to  the  mis- 
tress, not  even  excepting  a  covering  for  the  tiny 
corpse.  If  the  mother  cannot  provide  something  to 
shroud  her  baby,  she  may  have  it  buried  without. 
Those  clothes  must  be  laid  by  for  some  future  necessity. 

In  1831,  October  twenty-fifth,  another  little  voice 
was  heard  in  Yina's  cabin,  pleading  for  care.  She 
called  the  baby  William,  and  he  was  a  fine  brave  boy. 
His  little  brothers  gave  him  a  joyous  welcome,  and  so 
did  his  fond  parents ;  though,  in  truth,  they  scarcely 
knew  how  they  were  to  supply  his  baby  wants.  "  But 
'pears  like,"  says  the  mother,  "  every  baby  I  had  I 


BABY-LIFE  IN  THE  CABINS.  165 

growed  smarter,  so  't  when  I  had  three,  I  tuck  just  as 
good  care  of  'em  all  as  I  did  of  the  first  one." 

When  little  William  was  a  few  months  old,  a  child 
belonging  to  a  woman  named  Ann,  was  burned  to 
death  while  its  mother  was  away  in  the  field  at  work. 
It  was  winter,  and  the  mother,  as  was  necessary  at  that 
season,  had  built  sufficient  fire  to  keep  her  half-naked 
children  comfortable ;  and  then,  locking  her  door,  had 
left  them  to  amuse  themselves  during  her  absence. 
When  she  came  in,  her  child  was  lying  lifeless  upon 
the  clay  hearth.  It  had  crept  too  near  the  pretty 
blaze,  and  had  probably  fallen  on  the  burning  coals. 

The  burning  of  Ann's  child  brought  about  a  new 
order  of  things  on  the  plantation.  Thereafter,  every 
mother  was  required  to  leave  her  little  children  at  the 
kitchen  when  she  went  to  the  field,  and  then  the  cook 
could  mind  them. 

One  morning,  not  long  after  this  law  was  made, 
Vina  was  "  pushed"  to  get  out  in  time.  She  had  slept 
but  little  during  the  night,  and  she  did  not  wake  as 
early  as  usual.  So  she  thought  she  would  leave  the 
children  in  the  cabin  till  she  came  in  to  nurse  her 
baby,  and  then  she  would  carry  them  to  the  kitchen. 

The  other  little  ones  were  crowing  and  crying  about 
when  the  mistress's  eye  missed  Yina's.  She  counted 
them  all  over. 

"  Wfrere  are  Vina's  children?" 

"  She  never  brought  'em  dis  mornin',  ma'am." 

"Well,  I'll  settle  with  her  when  she  comes.  I've 
told  them  all  not  to  leave  their  children  at  home — they 
don't  care  whether  they're  burnt  up  or  not." 

When  Vina  came  at  breakfast  time  to  her  cabin,  (all 
but  the  mothers  of  young  children  ate  their  breakfast 


166          THE    KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

before  they  went  out)  she  took  her  three  little  ones  to 
the  kitchen,  and  sat  down  there  to  nurse  the  baby 
Soon  the  mistress  came  in,  holding  the  cowhide  partly 
behind  her. 

"How's  this,  Vina?"  said  she,  "I  thought  I  told 
you  that -you  was  n't  to  leave  your  children  in  your 
house  of  a  morning." 

"  Well,  Missus,  I's  pushed  this  mornin'.  I  had  n't 
time " 

"  I  don't  care  how  much  you  was  pushed.  I  told 
you  to  bring  them  here ;  and  if  the  sun  was  an  hour 
high  you  should  obey  me.  Lay  down  your  child^; 
I'm  going  to  whip  you  now,  for  I  said  I  would  do  it. 
If  your  children  had  got  burnt  up,  you  would  have 
blamed  me  about  it." 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  would  n't " 

"  Lay  your  child  down.  I'll  let  you  know  you  are 
to  obey  me." 

Yina  obeyed;  and  when  her  weary  shoulders  had 
received  twenty  hard  lashes,  she  went  out  to  her  work. 
Verily,  as  a  lady  in  that  neighborhood  remarked,  not 
long  since,  to  a  Northern  friend :  ' '  The  negroes  ought 
to  be  very  thankful  to  us  for  taking  care  of  them:  they 
make  us  a  great  deal  of  trouble." 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

FACTS. 

AMONG  the  slaves  on  Mr.  McKiernan's  plantation 
were  a  number  of  handsome  women.  Of  these  the 
master  was  extremely  fond,  and  many  of  them  he  be- 
guiled with  vile  flatteries,  and  cheated  by  false  prom- 
ises of  future  kindness,  till  they  became  victims  to  his 
unbridled  passions. 

Upon  these  unfortunate  women  fell  the  heavy  hatred 
of  their  mistress ;  and  year  after  year,  as  new  instances 
of  her  husband's  perfidy  came  to  her  knowledge,  her 
jealousy  ran  higher,  till  at  length  reason  seemed  ban- 
ished from  her  mind,  and  kindliness  became  a  stranger 
to  her  heart.  Then  she  sought  a  solace  in  the  wine- 
cup  ;  and  the  demon  of  intoxication  fanned  the  fires 
of  hatred  that  burned  within  her,  till  they  consumed 
all  that  was  womanly  in  her  nature,  and  rendered  her 
an  object  of  contempt  and  ridicule,  even  among  her 
own  dependents. 

The  master  was,  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing, 
not  far  from  fifty  years  of  age.  He  was  short  and 
burly  in  person,  with  a  large  head,  and  a  very  red 
face.  His  hair  was  quite  grey,  and  as  he  walked 
towards  the  quarter  in  the  morning  with  his  hat  on 
one  side,  cursing  and  spitting  with  equal  zeal,  he 

D67] 


168          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

looked,  as  some  of  his  slaves  remarked,  "like  a  big  buz- 
zard just  ready  to  fly." 

Vina  thoroughly  understood  her  master's  character ; 
she  knew  also  the  temper  of  her  mistress;  and  she 
strove  by  her  prudence  and  correctness  of  demeanor, 
to  avoid  exciting  the  evil  passions  of  either.  But  one 
day,  when  William  was  a  baby,  her  trial  came.  The 
following  is  her  own  account  of  her  contest  with  her 
master,  and  it  shows  that  she  possessed  a  brave,  true 
spirit : 

"  I  was  in  my  house  a  spinnin'  one  rainy  day,  and 
firs'  I  knowed,  Mass'r  he  come  to  the  door,  and  ax  me 
what  was  I  doin'.  I  told  him  I's  a  spinnin'  fine  yarn. 
'  Who's  thar  with  you  ?'  says  he,  '  Thar  aint  no  per- 
son yer  but  my  chill erns,'  says  I;  and  so  he  come  in 
and  sent  Peter  and  Levin  out.  I  knowed  what  was  a 
comin'  then,  for  his  eyes  looked  mighty  mean. 

"  He  sot  down  and  talked  till  I  got  tired  a  hearin', 
and  I  told  him  I  wished  he'd  go  'way  and  leave  me 
alone.  I  told  him  he  got  a  wife  o'  his  own,  and  I 
didn't  never  want  no  fuss  with  her.  Well,  he  'lowed 
she  wouldn't  never  know  nothin'  about  it,  no  how,  so 
it  wouldn't  do  her  no  hurt. 

"I  told  him  that  thar  wasn't  my  principle,  to  wrong 
any  person  behind  their  back,  thin  kin'  they  wouldn't 
know  it.  I  wouldn't  like  any  body  should  do  me  so. 
At  las'  I  told  him  I  got  a  task  to  do,  and  if  he  wouldn't 

go  off,  and  let  me  do  it,  I'd  go  myself; so  I  started 

for  the  door. 

"He  sprung  after  me,  and  cotch  me  by  the  neck  of 
my  coat,  and  tore  it  half  way  down  the  skirt  behind. 
That  made  me  mad,  and  I  fell  at  him,  and  tore  his 


FACTS.  f  _      169 

shirt  mighty  nigh  off  his  back.  I  pulled  his  hair  too, 
right  smart,  and  scratched  his  face,  and  then  tripped 
and  flung  him  on  the  floor. 

"  He  was  powerful  mad  when  he  got  up,  and  he  saj 
he  gwine  whip  me  well  for  that.  I  told  him  just  so 
sure  as  he  give  me  a  lick,  I'd  tell  Missus  what  it's  for ; 
and  he  knowed  he  never'd  git  no  chance  to  whip  me 
'bout  my  work,  so  he  neeedn't  make  no  such  pretence. 
'You  tell  her  one  word,'  says  he,  'bout  this  yer,  and 
I'll  cut  your  two  ears  off  close  to  your  head !'  '  No, 
sir,  you  wont,'  says  I,  'you  know  you  dares  not  crap 
one  o'  your  servants.' 

"  Then  he  went  up  to  the  house,  and  slipped  in  sly, 
and  put  on  a  clean  shirt.  But  'that  thar  raggety  one 
never  was  seen.  His  wife  missed  it,  though,  for  she 
knowed  he  put  on  a  clean  shirt  that  day.  She  axed 
all  the  house  servants  had  they  seen  it,  but  none  of 
'em  didn't  know  nuthin'  'bout  it.  Then  she  'lowed 
some  of  'em  done  stole  it,  and  she  laid  it  to  Jinny, — 
she  was  cook  then.  She  'lowed  she  done  give  it  to 
Jacob  her  husband.  They  both  'clared  they's  inno- 
cent ;  but  the  missus  and  the  overseer  give  'em  more'n 
three  hundred  lashes  to  make  'em  own  they  got  it. 

"  '  One  of  your  best  shirts  is  gone,'  says  she  to  the 
Mass'r,  '  and  I'm  determined  to  whip  the  servants  till 
I  make  them  tell  where  it  is.  I've  had  Jinny  and 
Jacob  whipped  well,  but  they  wont  own  any  thing 
about  it.  I  shall  have  to  try  the  others.' 

"'Jinny,'  says  Mass'r,  'what  about  that  shirt  of 
mine? 

"  '  Missus  has  whipped  me  'bout  that  shirt,  sir,'  says 
Jinny,  '  an'  I  don't  know  no  more  'bout  whar  it  is  an' 
you  does  yourself.' 
8       . 


170       -  THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

"  '  "Well,  go  'long,'  says  lie,  'but  mind,  Jinny,  you've 
got  that  to  find.' 

"  All  the  house  servants  got  whipped  'bout  it,  but 
none  of  'em  didn't  take  so  much  as  Jinny ;  and  they 
had  every  house  in  the  quarter  searched.  There  was 
more'n  five  hundred  blows  struck  'bout  that  shirt,  and 
they  never  found  no  sign  of  it. 

"  Two  or  three  weeks  after,  old  Mass'r  come  into 
the  field  to  whar  we's  plowin' !  He  tried  some  o'  the 
other  women's  ploughs,  and  then  he  come  to  me. 
'  Well,  girl,'  says  he,  'how  does  your  plough  run ?" 

"  '  Oh !  it  runs  well  enough,'  says  I. 

"  '  Let  me  try  it,'  says  he. 

"  '  I  don't  want  nobody  a  holdin'  my  plough',  says  I. 

"  '  The  devil  you  don't !'  I  see  he's  gittin'  mad ;  so 
I  stepped  back  and  drapped  the  line.  He  cotch  it, 
and  ploughed  a  few  rods.  '  What  you  think  now,' 
says  he  '  of  a  servant  fightin'  her  master  ?' 

"  '  What  you  think,  sir,  'bout  a  Mass'r  doin'  his 
servants  that  way  ?'  says  I.  '  You  see  'em  misbehave 
with  any  body  else,  and  you'd  whip  'em  sure !" 

"  '  Yes,  but  Pm  your  master.' 

"  '  That  don't  make  no  difference  to  me,  sir,'  says  I. 
'  How  could  you  see  your  poor  house  servants  cut  up 
so  'bout  that  shirt,  and  you  knowin'  whar  it  was  all 
the  time  ?  I  b'lieve  I'll  go  up  this  very  night,  and 
tell  'em  all  about  it.' 

"  'By  Gr — d,'  says  he,  'I  wish  you  would.  I'd  like 
to  have  you  tell  it.  I'd  give  you  the  devil.' 

"  But  I  didn't  have  no  notion  o'  tellin' !  They  had 
storms  enough  without  havin'  any  'bout  me,  and  I 
knowed  I  could  allers  keep  him  away  by  fightin'  him. 
I  liked  to  fight  him  a  little,  anyhow,  he's  so  mean.  If  I'd 


FACTS.  171 

told,  I'd  allers  had  Missus  agin  me,  and  they  mought 
'a'  sold  me  away  from  my  family,  and  that  would  'a' 
been  the  end  o'  me." 

Vina's  wisdom  in  refraining  from  reporting  to  her 
mistress,  may  be  inferred  from  the  following  incident, 
with  the  circumstances  of  which  she  was  well  ac- 
quainted. 

Jinny,  the  cook,  had  a  young  daughter  named 
Maria.  She  was  small  of  her  age,  a  bright  mulatto, 
and  uncommonly  pretty  ;  and  her  mistress  had  always 
kept  her  about  the  house. 

One  morning,  when  Maria  was  about  thirteen  years 
old,  the  mistress  called  her  to  perform  some  little 
service,  but  she  did  not  answer.  She  sent  to  the 
kitchen,  but  she  was  not  there,  and,  thinking  she  had 
perhaps  fallen  asleep  somewhere  in  the  house,  the  lady 
proceeded  to  look  for  her  in  the  different  rooms.  She 

opened  the  parlor  door,  and  there  was  the  child • 

with  her  master. 

All  the  fierceness  of  her  nature  was  aroused.  Her 
husband  immediately  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  off 
to  escape  the  storm ;  though  well  he  knew  that  its  full 
fury  would  fall  upon  the  young  head  of  his  victim. 

The  enraged  woman  seized  the  trembling  child  and 
put  her  in  a  buck.  Then  she  whipped  her  till  she  was 
tired,  but  not  satisfied ;  for  as  soon  as  she  had  rested 
her  weary  arms,  she  flew  at  her  again,  and  after  beat- 
ing her  till  she  had  exhausted  her  own  strength  a 
second  time,  she  shut  her  up  in  the  brick  smoke-house. 

The  matter  was  no  secret,  for  she  told  the  story  to 
all  the  servants,  and  to  every  one  else  who  chanced  to 
come  to  the  house  while  her  wrath  was  burning. 


172          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE  EANSOMED. 

For  two  weeks  she  kept  the  poor  girl  constantly  im- 
prisoned there,  except  that  every  day  she  took  her  out 
long  enough  to  whip  her.  She  gave  her  nothing  to 
eat  or  drink,  and  all  the  light  or  air  that  could  enter 
the  gloomy  place  came  through  the  small  holes  that 
were  left  .by  the  builders  to  admit  air  to  the  bacon. 
Through  these,  Jinny,  when  she  could  steal  an  oppor- 
tunity, passed  small  pieces  of  bread,  and  a  little  water 
in  a  vial,  that  her  child  might  not  die  of  hunger. 

Some  of  the  elderly  servants  expostulated  with  their 
mistress,  and  even  hinted  that  Maria  was  but  a  child, 
and  that  it  was  "  mass'r"  that  was  to  blame.  "  She'll 
know  better  in  future,"  was  the  stern  reply;  "after  I've 
done  with  her,  she'll  never  do  the  like  again  through 
ignorance." 

"  But  she'll  die,  missus,  if  you  keeps  her  shut  up 
thar  much  longer." 

"  That's  just  what  I  want ;  I  hope  she  will  die." 

The  poor  child  grew  very  thin  and  pale,  and  some- 
times, when  she  was  taken  out  to  receive  her  daily 
whipping,  she  could  hardly  stand.  "  O  missus,"  said 
she  one  day,  "  if  you  whips  me  any  more  it  will  kill 
me." 

"  That's  just  what  I  want ;  I  hope  it  will; "was  the 
only  reply.  But  some  merciful  angel  restrained  her 
cruel  arm  for  that  one  day,  and  she  thrust  her  back 
without  beating  her. 

"  Please,  missus,  wont  you  let  me  have  a  drink  of 
water?"  said  the  child,  as  the  door  was  once  more 
about  to  close  upon  her. 

"  No ;  not  a  drop  of  water  shall  you  have,  nor  a 
mouthful  to  eat ; "  and  she  shut  the  door  upon  the 
youthful  sufferer. 


FACTS.  173 

After  she  had.  kept  her  thus  imprisoned  for  two 
weeks,  her  eldest  son,  Master  Charles,  came  from 
Louisiana  on  a  visit.  To  him  his  mother  told  the  story 
of  Maria's  depravity,  and  begged  him  to  take  her  away 
with  him.  "  Sell  her,"  said  she,  "  to  the  hardest  mas- 
ter you  can  find,  for,  if  she  stays  here,  I  shall  certainly 
kill  her." 

Master  Charles  readily  assented  to  his  mother's  pro- 
posal, and  proceeded  at  once  to  the  smoke-house  to  let 
Maria  out.  Poor  child,  how  changed  was  she  from 
the  bright  young  girl  of  two  weeks  before !  Her  face 
had  now  an  ashy  hue,  and  her  large  eyes  were  dull 
and  sunken.  Her  flesh,  too,  was  all  gone ;  so  that  she 
was  indeed  frightful  to  look  at. 

"Why,  mother,"  said  the  young  man,  "you  must 
have  this  girl  fattened  up  or  she  will  never  sell.  I 
should  be  ashamed  to  offer  her  for  sale  looking  as  she 
does  now." 

The  mistress  went  to  the  kitchen.  "Jinny,"  said 
she,  "  I  want  you  to  feed  my  young  mistress  well,  and 
fatten  her  for  the  market." 

Poor  Jinny  was  greatly  distressed,  and  as  soon  as 
she  could  find  him  alone,  she  begged  young  Master 
Charles  not  to  sell  her  child. 

"  O  Aunt  Jinny,"  said  he,  "I  am  not  going  to  sell 
her.  I  want  to  take  her  home  with  me,  to  get  her 
away  from  the  old  lady.  I  shall  keep  her  myself,  and 
I'll  take  good  care  of  her. 

The  young  man  kept  his  word.  He  took  her  to 
Louisiana,  and  kept  her  till  she  had  recovered  her 
health  and  her  good  looks.  Then  he  hired  her  out  to 
a  lady  of  his  acquaintance,  who  taught  her  to  sew,  and 
she  became  an  excellent  seamstress.  A  few  years  after, 


\ 
174         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

when  lie  came  home  on  a  visit,  he  brought  her  with 
him  that  she  might  see  her  mother.  She  was  then  a 
large,  fine  looking  woman,  so  changed  from  the  poor 
persecuted  child  that  left  them,  that  her  friends  could 
scarcely  credit  her  identity.  Yet,  though  years  had 
passed,  she  dared  not  come  into  the  presence  of  her 
angered  mistress.  Master  Charles  left  her  at  his  sister's ; 
and  only  when  her  enemy  had  left  the  plantation  for 
the  day,  did  Maria  venture  to  steal  a  visit  to  her  early 
friends. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 
PETER'S   YEAR   AT   McKIBRNAN'S. 

ON  the  first  day  of  January  1841,  Peter  commenced 
his  labors  on  the  plantation  of  Mr.  McKiernan.  Now 
came  his  most  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  realities 
of  slavery.  He  had  witnessed  much  suffering  both  in 
Kentucky,  and  also  since  his  removal  to  Alabama ;  and 
had  even  endured,  in  his  own  person,  enough  to  give 
him  some  idea  of  the  meaning  of  the  word  slave,  but 
never  did  he  comprehend  its  full,  fearful  import  till  he 
learned  it  here. 

Not  that  he  suffered  personal  abuse,  for  aside  from  two 
or  three  violent  cursings,  he  received  during  the  year,  no 
unkind  treatment.  This  exemption  he  owed  partly  to 
his  own  cautious  avoidance  of  any  act  or  word  that  could 
annoy  his  irritable  master ;  and  partly,  no  doubt,  to  the 
fact  that  Mr.  McKiernan  wished  to  buy  him,  but  was 
well  aware  that  he  could  not  be  purchased  from  the 
estate  of  his  late  master  without  his  own  consent.  Mrs. 
Hogun,  his  former  mistress,  was  still  his  kindest  friend ; 
and  though  she  had  now  no  real  authority  over  any  of 
the  slaves  except  the  six  that  had"  been  allotted  to  her- 
self, she  still  possessed  great  influence  with  those  who 
managed  the  estate ;  and  she  would  never  sanction  the 
sale,  against  his  will,  of  one  of  her  favorite  servants. 


176          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EANSOMED. 

So  Mr.  McKiernan  was  wondrous  kind  to  Peter.  He 
employed  him  during  part  of  the  year  as  moulder  in 
making  brick,  with  the  professed  intention  of  building 
new  brick  cabins  for  his  people ;  but  to  this  day  the 
old  log  huts  remain  their  habitations. 

It  was  not  in  personal  sufferings  or  privations  that 
Peter  found  the  bitterest  woes  of  slavery.  It  was  the 
stifling  influence  of  the  deep  degradation  of  his  race 
that  most  oppressed  his  spirit.  The  moral  malaria  of 
the  place  filled  his  blood  with  hatred  of  the  oppressions 
by  which  it  was  engendered ;  and  his  own  conscious- 
ness of  higher  aspirations  than  those  indulged  who 
called  themselves  his  masters  taught  him  that,  though 
his  skin  was  black,  they  were,  in  truth,  beneath  him 
in  all  that  constitutes  a  man. 

But  though  Peter  found  much  to  sadden  his  spirit 
while  he  remained  on  Mr.  McKiernan's  place,  his  con- 
stant presence  there  was  a  rich  blessing  to  his  family. 

Vina  had  now,  in  addition  to  the  three  children  we 
have  previously  named,  a  little  daughter  about  three 
years  old.  She  had,  during  the  autumn  of  1833,  buried 
a  baby  a  week  old ;  and  little  Silas,  after  remaining 
with  her  just  one  year,  was  borne  away  to  the  hill-side 
in  August,  1836.  Again  in  March,  1840,  a  little 
daughter,  five  months  old,  was  strangled  by  the  croup. 

In  July,  1841,  another  little  boy  was  welcomed  to 
their  humble  cabin.  They  called  him  Bernard,  and 
for  three  years  he  remained  the  pet  of  all  the  little 
household.  Then  he  was  seized  with  spasms — and 
soon  his  merry  voice  was  hushed,  and  his  little  form 
grew  cold  and  stiff  in  death. 

The  three  boys,  Peter,  Levin  and  "William,  were 
now  old  enough  to  work  on  the  plantation,  and  their 


PETER'S  YEAR  AT  MOKIERNAN'S.          177 

obedience  and  kindness  to  their  mother  fully  rewarded 
all  the  care  she  had  bestowed  upon  them.  Yet  she 
was  forced  even  now  to  labor  very  hard  to  keep  them 
comfortably  clad.  She  made  all  their  clothes  herself, 
and  washed  and  mended  them  by  night.  Their  stock- 
ings, too,  she  knit,  though  she  was  obliged  first  to  card 
the  wool  and  spin  it.  Of  this  the  slaves  had  usually 
as  much  as  they  needed  for  stockings,  if  they  could  get 
time  to  manufacture  it.  The  master  had  plenty  of 
sheep,  and  was  not  in  the  habit  of  selling  the  wool. 

All  the  fragments  of  their  worn-out  clothes  the  care- 
ful mother  saved,  and  pieced  them  into  bed-quilts. 
She  managed  to  get  help  to  quilt  these,  by  inviting  in 
the  other  women  on  Saturday  nights.  They  were  not 
allowed  to  leave  their  cabins  after  the  blowing  of  the 
horn  for  them  to  go  to  bed ;  but  they  were  welcome 
to  sit  up  and  work  till  morning,  if  they  could  furnish 
themselves  with  lights. 

Thus,  in  exhausting  and  continual  toil,  had  passed 
the  years  of  Vina's  motherhood.  Her  husband  had 
been  unable  to  share  her  cares,  except  on  Sundays, 
when  he  had  done  all  he  could  to  aid  her  in  her  labors. 
No  wonder  she  was  glad  when  every  night  his  smile 
brightened  her  cabin,  and  his  pleasant  voice  beguiled 
her  hour  of  toil ;  and  yet,  in  her  unselfish  heart,  she 
wished  his  lot  had  fallen  elsewhere. 

Peter,  as  we  have  seen,  had  been  long  accus- 
tomed to  plantation  life ;  and,  during  the  ten  years 
that  had  elapsed  since  his  master's  death,  he  had  seen 
many  hardships.  But  still,  the  kindness  of  his  mis- 
tress had  never  failed  him;  and  even  when  she  no 
longer  possessed  the  power  to  ameliorate  his  condition, 
the  knowledge  that  she  pitied  him,  and  exerted  all 
8* 


178         THE   KIDNAPBED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

her  influence  in  his  behalf,  endued  him  with  new 
strength  to  bear  his  troubles.  But  on  this  plantation 
a  phase  of  slave-life  was  presented  for  his  observance, 
new,  and  more  revolting  than  any  he  had  elsewhere 
witnessed ;  for  here  the  .women  suffered  most,  and 
oftenest  by  their  mistress'  hand,  or  in  obedience  to  her 
orders. 

The  main  house-servant,  at  this  time,  was  Ann  Eliza, 
whom  with  her  husband,  Edward,  Mr.  McKiernan  had 
bought  several  years  before  in  Mississippi.  She  knew 
how  to  read  well,  understood  all  the  branches  of  good 
housewifery,  and  was  withal  possessed  of  excellent 
sense  and  real  piety.  Yet,  although  her  services  in 
the  house  were  invaluable,  and  her  conduct  was  above 
reproach,  her  mistress  hated  her.  She  was  too  hand- 
some, and  had  "such  a  tongue!" 

Ann  Eliza  was  not  impudent  or  bold ;  but  when 
her  mistress  violently  upbraided  her,  and  accused  her 
falsely,  she  threw  back  her  head,  and  fixed  her  large, 
clear  eyes  upon  her  face,  while  with  a  steady  voice  she 
declared  her  innocence.  This  dignified  defence  the 
passionate  lady  could  only  answer  with  the  cowhide, 
and  she  frequently  exhausted  her  own  strength  in 
fruitless  efforts  to  subdue  the  spirit  of  her  slave. 

Once,  during  the  year  that  Peter  spent  there,  the 
mistress,  as  a  punishment  for  some  offence,  sent  Ann 
Eliza  to  the  gin-house,  to  assist  in  moving  a  quan- 
tity of  cotton.  After  she  had  gone,  a  messenger  was 
despatched  for  a  man  named  Anderson,  who  was  in 
the  habit  of  attending  to  any  necessary  business  on  the 
place  during  the  master's  absence. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Anderson,"  said  the  lady,  when 
that  personage  presented  himself  before  her.  "  I  want 


PETER'S  YEAR  AT  M°KIERNAN'S.          179 

you  to  go  to  the  gin-house,  and  get  Ann  Eliza,  aud 
give  her  one  good  whipping.  I  have  whipped  her 
myself  till  I  am  tired,  but  it  does  no  good.  She  needs 
bringing  down,  for  she  is  the  torment  of  my  life.  Lay 
it  on  well ;  you  needn't  be  afraid.  It  is  a  good  time 
now,  as  Mr.  McKiernan  is  away  from  home.  He  is 
mighty  careful  of  the  pretty  girl,  himself,  and  that  is 
what  makes  her  so  impudent." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Anderson,  "  I'll  give  her  a 
lesson  she'll  remember ;"  and  he  departed  to  the  gin- 
house. 

Ann  Eliza  saw  him  coming,  and  she  knew  her 
doom.  She  cast  one  imploring  look  at  her  husband, 
who  was  working  at  her  side.  Edward  returned  it 
with  a  glance  so  full  of  terror,  pity,  and  an  intense 
longing  to  avenge  her  wrongs,  that  all  her  powers 
were  roused,  and  she  felt  strong  to  endure  the  worst. 

She  stood  calmly  by  her  husband's  side,  while,  with 
his  rope,  the  ruffian  bound  her  hands ;  and  then,  at 
his  command,  she  followed  him  towards  the  house, 
leaving  poor  Edward  gazing  after  her  in  silent  terror. 
One  moment  a  flash  of  vengeance  gleamed  from  his 
dark  eyes ;  and  then  he  realized  his  utter  helplessness, 
and  his  head  drooped  low,  while  great  tears  fell  upon 
the  heap  of  cotton. 

Peter  stood  in  the  shelter  of  one  of  the  out-buildings, 
and  watched  Anderson  as  he  led  his  victim  to  the 
orchard.  There  he  "  staked  her  out"  upon  the  ground, 
and,  with  a  zest  unknown  to  uncultivated  natures,  he 
applied  the  cowhide  to  her  naked  back  and  limbs. 
Her  screams  of  agony  only  excited  his  demoniac  mirth. 
"That's  right,"  he  cried,  "Hike  to  hear  you  shout; 


180          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   KANSOMED. 

that's   the   way  ye  all   shout  at  the    camp-ground. 
Shout  away !  you're  gittin'  happy  now." 

He  beat  her  there,  mocking  the  -while  her  cries  of 
pain,  till  she  became  too  much  exhausted  to  utter  ano- 
ther sound ;  and  then,  untying  her,  he  delivered  her 
to  her  mistress.  "  Thar,  ma'am,"  said  he,  "  she  ain't 
got  use  for  no  more  this  tune.  She's  got  the  devil  in 
her,  but  I  reckon  he'll  keep  still  till  she  gits  over  this 
ere." 

Much  religious  excitement  existed  at  this  time 
among  the  slaves  in  the  neighborhood,  and  particu- 
larly upon  the  plantation  of  Mr.  McKiernan.  An  old 
Baptist  preacher,  named  Archie  Eggleston,  had  been 
hired  here  the  preceding  year  ;  and  he  had  zealously 
preached  to  his  brethren  in  bonds  the  love  and  com- 
passion of  Jesus  ;  and  had  sought,  in  his  simple  way, 
to  encourage  them  to  hope  for  a  home  among  "  the 
spirits  bright."  His  language,  it  is  true,  was  full  of 
the  quaint  idioms  of  his  race ;  but  it  spoke  to  the  hearts 
of  his  unlearned  auditory;  for  the  little  which  he 
could  tell  them  of  the  blessed  Saviour  was  just  what 
they  loved  to  hear.  They  "received  the  word  with 
gladness,"  and,  with  its  warm  and  cheering  rays,  it 
illumined  their  darkness,  and  strewed  the  thorny  path 
they  trod,  not  with  the  roses  of  content,  but  with  the 
trembling  violets  of  hope. 

Sweet,  when  their  daily  toil  was  done,  was  the  hour 
which,  borrowed  from  their  needed  rest,  they  spent 
alone  in  prayer ;  and,  as  the  breath  of  their  humble 
souls  ascended  on  the  soft  air  of  evening,  their  trusting 
hearts  were  filled  with  heavenly  consolations. 


PETER'S  YEAR  AT  MCKIERNAN'S.         181 

But  even  these  few  precious  moments  were  not  un- 
disturbed, if  the  overseer  or  young  Master  Charles 
discovered  their  retreat.  "  Ye  all  needn't  pretend  to 
be  praying,  when  you're  just  hiding  around  to  get  a 
chance  to  steal ;  take  that — and  learn  to  stay  at  home 
of  nights!" 


CHAPTEE     XXIV. 
BURTON'S    REIGN 

THE  overseer  on  Mr.  McKiernan's  place  was  usually 
a  representative  of  the  lowest  order  of  his  profession. 
The  master  could  tolerate  no  other,  and  those  of  the 
"better  class  would  not  remain  in  his  employ.  If,  by 
chance,  he  hired  one  of  a  higher  grade  than  the  brutish 
fellows  to  whom  his  business  was  wont  to  be  intrusted, 
his  stay  was  short. 

"  Why  don't  you  put  on  some  decent  clothes  ?"  said 
such  a  one  to  a  half-naked  negro,  soon  after  he  entered 
.  upon  his  duties  in  the  field. 

"  Ain't  got  none  but  dese  yer,  sir." 

"Where's  the  clothes  your  master  gave  you  this 
fall?" 

"  He  ain't  never  give  us  no  clothes,  sir,  in  more'n  a 
year." 

"  Humph  !  Ill  not  have  anything  to  do  with  his 
lousy  niggers ;  I  shall  get  lousy  myself." 

"  Mr.  McKiernan,  I  can't  do  business  for  you ;  your 
niggers  are  too  filthy  and  ragged ;  I  can't  oversee  such 
a  gang." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  get  them  new  clothes  soon ; 
I've  been  intending  to  get  some  this  long  time,  but  it 
has  been  neglected." 

CUB] 


BURTON'S  REIGN.  183 

Nothing  more  was  heard  of  them,  however,  and  the 
scrupulous  overseer  found  another  situation,  leaving 
his  place  to  be  filled  by  one  whose  tastes  accorded  bet- 
ter with  those  of  the  old  master. 

One  of  this  latter  class  was  employed  upon  the  place 
a  few  years  after  Peter's  sojourn  there,  who  had  so 
keen  a  relish  for  the  varieties  of  his  profession  that  a 
few  instances  of  his  reign  should  be  related  here. 

His  name  was  Burton.     He  was  a  tall,  dark  man 
with  grey  hair,  and  shaggy  eye-brows,  as  fierce  and" 
disagreeable  in  countenance  as  he  was  cruel  and  hard 
of  heart. 

He  came  on  Saturday,  and  commenced  business  on 
Sunday  morning  by  summoning  all  the  hands  to  listen 
to  his  rules. 

"D'ye  all  hear?  Every  man  of  you  must  get  your 
axe  and  saw,  and  go  to  the  woods,  and  chop  and  saw 
logs  for  boards.  And  you  girls,  get  your  mattocks 
and  handspikes,  and  go  on  the  new  ground  and  grub ; 
and,  d'ye  hear?  mend  every  log-heap,  and  every 
brush  heap  there.  And  mind ;  the  same's  to  be  the 
law  for  every  Sunday  morning.  Ye  all  are  to  work 
till  noon,  and  after  that  you  may  go  the  devil." 

The  sable  company  gazed  at  each  other  in  blank 
amazement.  They  had  been  "pushed"  when  they  had 
been  allowed  to  wash  and  mend,  and  work  their  patches 
on  the  holy  day,  but  now 

The  silence  was  interrupted  by  one  of  their  number, 
named  Lewis,  a  very  black  man  with  a  round  face  and 
heavy  figure,  who  stepped  forward,  and  said,  as  he 

looked  the  new  overseer  firmly  in  the  face, ""Well, 

Sir,  de  res'  cun  do  as  dey  likes,  but  dis  chile  aint  gwine 
to  do  it" 


184        THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EAXSOMED. 

"You  tell  me,"  cried  Burton,  "that  you're  not  going 
to  do  it?" 

"  Yes,  Sir,  I  tell  you  I  wont  do  it  I  aint  gwine  to 
work  a  Sunday  for  no  man." 

"Very  well — v-e-r-y  w-e-l-L"  The  enraged  over- 
seer turned  hia  fiery  eyes  upon  the  other  slaves,  and  saw 
that  they  obeyed  his  orders.  With  rolling  eyes  and 
pouting  lips  they  all  went  in  their  dirty  clothes  to  work. 

Till  noon  they  labored ;  none  dared  a  moment  to  lag ; 
for  the  monster  with  his  heavy  whip  was  near.  At  twelve 
they  returned  tired  and  angry  to  the  quarter.  They 
were  unwashed,  their  cabins  were  untidy,  but  they  had 
no  heart  to  move ;  and  there  they  sat  in  sullen  silence. 

Presently  the  overseer  summoned  five  or  six  of  the 
strongest  men  to  go  and  help  him  "  take  that  gentle- 
man that  would'nt  work  on  Sunday." 

They  dared  not  disobey.  Burton  took  a  rope,  and, 
attended  by  these  unwilling  aids,  entered  the  cabin  of 
Lewis.  He  did  not  look  up  as  they  went  in,  but  sat 
with  his  head  inclined,  and  with  a  look  of  fierce  de- 
cision on  his  face.  They  approached  to  bind  him. 
Instantly  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  fought  like  a  tiger. 

For  half  an  hour  the  uproar  in  the  house  continued ; 
and  then  they  brought  poor  Lewis  out,  wound  up  iii 
ropes. 

The  cabins  were  built  in  a  hollow  square,  one  side 
of  which  was  formed  by  the  overseer's  house  and  gar- 
den. Into  the  centre  of  this  square  Burton  led  his 
victim,  and  there  in  sight  of  all  the  slaves,  he  stripped 
him  entirely  naked,  and  then  whipped  him  till  the  blood 
streamed  from  his  back.  Then  commanding,  as  before, 
other  negroes  to  his  aid,  he  led  him  to  the  smoke-house, 
and  put  him  in  the  stocks. 


BURTON'S  REIGN.  185 

These  consisted  of  two  heavy  timbers,  with  mortice 
hole  cut  in  each,  through  which  they  thrust  the  hands 
and  feet  of  the  offender,  securing  them  by  heavy  iron 
bolts  at  each  end  of  the  timbers. 

Thus  the  pitying  slaves  confined  their  mangled  bro- 
ther. Alas !  they  had  no  power  to  aid  him,  and  they 
dared  not  refuse  to  obey  the  orders  of  the  overseer, 
though  every  appealing  look  of  their  suffering  com- 
panion was  a  dagger  to  their  hearts. 

After  supper  that  night,  a  light  was  seen  gleaming 
through  the  small  apertures  in  the  smoke-house  wall ; 
and  some  of  the  slaves  peeped  in.  Burton  sat  com- 
posedly in  a  chair  which  was  kept  there  for  the  con- 
venience of  overseers  on  like  occasions,  and  as  his 
cowhide,  with  a  sharp  twang  fell  on  his  prostrate  vic- 
tim, they  heard  his  muttered  curses  mingle  with  the 
sufferer's  groans.  "  "Well,"  whispered  one  of  these 
curious  listeners,  "I  gives  it  up.  Der  aint  no  use 
talMn'  'bout  de  Lord's  orderin'  all  things ;  kase  its  plain 
to  my  comperhendin'  dat  nobody  sent  dat  dar  ole  feller 
yer  but  the  devil  himself.  De  Lord-knowed  we  done 
seen  hard  times  enough  on  dis  yer  place ;  we  didn't 
need  no  more  o'  dat  sort" 

The  next  day  at  noon,  Burton  let  the  offender  out, 
and  ordered  him  to  go  to  work, 

"  I  aint  able  to  work,"  growled  Lewis. 

"But  you  shall  work,"  rejoined  the  overseer,"  or  m 
give  you  more  of  the  same  sort." 

Notwithstanding  this  threat,  Lewis  went  to  his  cabin, 
and  there  day  after  day  he  sat  brooding  over  his  in- 
juries. 

"  How  long  are  you  going  to  sit  there,  you  d — d 
sulky  nigger?"  cried  Burton  at  the  cabin  door. 


186          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

"I's  gwine  stay  yer  till  I  gits  well,  and  den  I's 
gwine  to  de  woods." 

Lewis  kept  his  word.  A  day  or  two  after  this,  he 
rose  in  the  morning  at  the  sound  of  the  horn,  and 
went  out.  Soon  after  Burton  appeared  at  the  door. 
"Where's  Lewis?"  demanded  he,  of  Lucy,  his  wife> 
who  was  preparing  to  go  to  her  work. 

"I  don'  know,  sir,  I  reckon  he's  some're  'bout  de 
yard." 

The  day  wore  on,  but  no  Lewis  appeared.  "  I  tell 
you,  my  lady,"  said  Burton  to  Lucy,  "  I'll  fetch  the 
truth  out  of  you."  So  saying,  he  seized  her,  and  tying 
her  arms  around  a  stump,  whipped  her  cruelly.  But 
thus  he  gained  no  knowledge  of  her  husband ;  for  she 
still  protested  that  she  supposed  he  had  only  gone  into 
the  yard. 

Week  after  week  passed  on,  and  yet  no  tidings  came 
of  Lewis ;  but  he  was  not  alone,  for  soon  a  man  named 
Frank,  and  "  old  man  John,"  were  driven  by  Burton's 
cruelty  to  join  him  in  his  "  den." 

Yet  the  cowhide  of  the  overseer  had  no  rest ;  for  so 
dearly  did  he  love  its  music,  that  a  day  seldom  passed 
on  which  he  could  find  no  occasion  for  its  use. 

Young  Peter  was  one  day  suffering  from  a  severe 
toothache,  and  he  quit  his  work,  and  sought  his  mo- 
ther's cabin.  It  was  a  busy  time,  for  they  were  to 
kill  hogs  the  next  day. 

He  had  been  in  the  house  but  a  short  time,  when 
Burton  came  to  the  door  and  bade  him  go  and  help  to 
make  the  necessary  preparations  for  the  morrow.  "  I 
can't  work,  sir,"  said  he,  "  my  tooth  aches  too  bad." 

"  Well,"  said  the  overseer,  "come  along  to  my  house, 
d — n  you,  and  I'll  cure  it,  or  knock  it  out — one." 


BUKTON'S  EEIGN.  187 

"If  that  be  the  case,  sir,"  said  Peter,  "I  wont  go; 
for  I  aint  gwine  have  my  teeth  knocked  out  like  I  was 
a  horse  or  a  hog." 

"So  you  tell  me  you  wont,  young  man — v-e-r-y 
w-e-1-1." 

The  next  morning,  Peter,  having  been  kept  awake 
nearly  all  night  by  his  tooth,  did  not  go  out  till  sunrise, 
though  he  was  called  soon  after  midnight.  Meantime, 
the  master  visited  the  scene  of  slaughter. 

"Master  Peter  is  laid  up  with  the  tooth-ache,"  said 
Burton  to  his  employer,  "  and  I  told  him  yesterday  if 
he  would  come  to  my  house,  I  would  give  him  some- 
thing to  ease  it ;  but  the  young  gentleman  told  me  he 
would  not." 

Vina  stood  near,  and  as  she  had  heard  the  conver- 
sation the  day  before,  she  determined,  if  possible,  to 
shield  her  son  from  the  impending  storm.  She  had 
always  been  a  most  useful  servant ;  and  since  the  time 
when  the  overseer  Simms  had  so  nearly  murdered  her, 
the  master  had  not  suffered  her  to  be  beaten.  So  with 
a  consciousness  of  her  own  high  standing  in  his  esteem, 
she  boldly  repeated,  in  his  presence,  the  precise  "lan- 
guage which  the  overseer  had  .used  to  Peter. 

"You  told  him,"  said  she,  "to  come  to  your  house, 
and  you'd  cure  it  or  knock  it  out ;  and  he  said,  if  that 
was  the  case,  he  wasn't  gwine  come,  kase  he  didn't 
want  his  teeth  knocked  out  like  he  was  a  horse." 

Burton  gave  her  an  angry  scowl.  "  Was  I  talking 
to  you?"  said  he. 

"  No,  sir,  but  you's  tryin'  to  git  Peter  whipped,  just 
for  nuthin  ?" 

"  Hush  your  mouth !"  cried  her  master. 


188          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

"  I  told  the  truth,  sir,"  said  she,  nothing  daunted, 
and  looking  him  earnestly  in  the  face. 

After  a  while,  Peter  came  out.  "  What's  that  im- 
pudence you  were  giving  to  Mr.  Burton  last  night, 
telling  him  you  wouldn't  ?"  said  the  master. 

The  young  man  repeated  the  conversation. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  McKiernan,  turning  to  the  over- 
seer, "you  can  tie  him  up  to  that  apple  tree." 

Burton  needed  nothing  further.  He  quickly  tied 
Peter  to  the  tree,  and  gave  him  a  hundred  lashes,  after, 
which  he  ordered  him  to  go  to  work. 

This  scene  was  highly  amusing  to  the  master,  who 
often  told  the  story  with  great  glee ;  swearing  that  the 
best  cure  he  ever  knew  for  a  nigger's  tooth-ache  was  to 
tie  him  up  to  a  tree,  and  "  give  him  the  devil." 

For  three  months  no  trace  was  found  of  the  three 
runaways,  though  many  days  were  spent  in  hunting 
them,  and  no  means  were  left  untried  to  induce  their 
fellow-slaves  to  betray  them  to  their  foes.  Their  wives, 
from  the  time  of  their  flight,  received  weekly  but  half 
their  usual  allowance  of  meat,  that  they  might  have 
no  surplus  "to  feed  the  rascals."  "Go  out  and  hunt 
them,"  said  Burton,  when  they  complained  of  the  scanty 
fare,  "and  when  you  bring  them  in,  your  allowance 
shall  be  made  up  to  you." 

The  master  at  last  despaired  of  taking  them  by 
ordinary  means,  and  he  resolved  to  try  a  desperate 
measure;  one  that  should  frighten  all  the  others  who 
might  thereafter  be  tempted  to  try  the  woods. 

About  half  way  to  Courtland  lived  a  negro-hunter, 
named  Elliott,  and  Mr.  McKiernan  now  sent  for  him 
to  come  and  catch  his  runaways.  Elliott  promptly 


BURTON'S  REIGN.  189 

obeyed  the  summons ;  bringing  with  him  his  trained 
dogs — seven  hounds  and  a  bull-dog. 

He  arrived  just  before  supper,  and  early  the  next 
morning  the  hunt  was  to  commence.  That  night  Frank 
came  to  the  quarter.  His  friends  informed  him  that 
the  dogs  had  come,  and  bade  him  haste  to  flee  beyond 
their  reach.  But  he  was  very  swift  of  foot,  and  he  felt 
sure  he  could  outrun  them.  He  however,  hastened 
back  to  the  "  den  "  which  the  three  occupied  together, 
and  told  the  news  to  his  companions,  Lewis,  and  "  old 
man  John." 

Lewis  lost  no  time  in  fleeing  beyond  their  scent. 
The  dawn  of  the  next  morning  found  him  in  the 
woods  near  La  Grange,  distant  from  their  rendezvous 
about  seven  miles. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  party,  composed  of  Mr. 
McKiernan,  Elliott,  and  a  slave  named  Yollen,  started 
on  the  hunt.  They  were  mounted  on  the  swiftest 
horses  the  place  could  boast,  and  the  dogs  with  their 
noses  to  the  earth,  silently  followed  them. 

They  passed  the  gang  of  slaves  just  going  out  to 
work,  and  from  many  a  heart  the  fervent  prayer  went 
up  to  Heaven  that  they  might  miss  their  prey. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  baying  of  the  dogs  was 
heard.  "Thar,"  said  Vina  to  the  woman  who  was 
plowing  next  her,  "  I'll  lay  anything  they's  started  one 
o'  the  poor  fellers." 

The  horrid  sounds  came  nearer — the  hunters'  yells 
mingled  with  the  dogs'  loud  baying ;  and  as  all  eyes 
were  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  woods,  a  .man 
bounded  over  the  high  fence,  and  ran  with  desperate 
speed  into  the  midst  of  the  excited  slaves.  The  fright- 


190          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

ened  mules  set  up  their  ears,  and  ran  furiously  through 
the  field,  dragging  the  plows  behind  them  over  the 
young  corn. 

"  Hold  on  I  Hold  on !"  cried  the  master,  who  rode 
close  behind  poor  Frank ;  "  don't  let  'em  run  I" 

But  few  tried  to  obey,  and  those  few  were  dragged 
at  full  length  along  the  ground,  adding  by  their  shouts 
and  cries,  to  the  confusion  of  the  scene. 

"  Take  off  de  dogs !  call  'em  off!  dey's  killin'  me !" 
cried  Frank. 

"Let  'em  go !"  shouted  his  master  ;  "  who  cares  if 
they  do  kill  him !  He's  made  me  more  expense  and 
trouble  than  his  neck's  worth." 

The  bull-dog,  with  the  ferocity  of  his  race,  kept 
close  to  the  poor  fellow's  legs,  and  tore  great  pieces  of 
flesh  out  of  them  as  he  ran.  At  last  Frank  seized  a 
stick  that  lay  across  his  path,  and  attempted  to  beat 
him  off.  Up  rode  Elliott.  "  You  d — d  rascal !  how 
dare  you  strike  my  dog  ?"  So  saying,  he  gave  him 
several  blows  over  the  head  and  neck,  that  sent  the 
blood  gushing  out. 

"Mercy!  Mercy!"  cried  the  slave,  "you're  killin' 
me!" 

"I  mean  to  kill  you,  you  black  cuss." 

When  they  called  off  the  dogs,  and  started  for  the 
house,  poor  Frank,  faint  with  fatigue  and  loss  of  blood, 
could  walk  no  further ;  so  the  master  commanded  one 
of  the  men  to  take  his  mule  out  of  the  plow  and  carry 
him  to  the  house. 

They  lifted  him,  all  covered  with  blood,  upon  the 
mule,  and  when  they  reached  the  quarter  Mr.  McKier- 
nan  delivered  him  to  the  overseer.  "  Here,  Burton,  ia 


BURTON'S  REIGN.  191 

one  of  your  runaways — Elliott  says  he'll  bring  in  the 
other  two  to-morrow,  if  they're  any  where  this  side  of 
h— 11." 

Burton  ordered  the  slaves  to  go  on  with  him  to  the 
smoke-house,  and  put  him  in  the  stocks. 

The  next  day  the  overseer  went  in  to  "take  his 
satisfaction."  He  first  fastened  the  hands  of  his  victim 
in  their  mortise ;  and  then,  sitting  down,  whipped  him 
till  his  demoniac  rage  was  "  satisfied." 

For  several  days  thereafter,  Frank  was  left  in  the 
stocks.  His  wounds  inflamed,  his  bruises  festered,  and 
at  last  he  told  the  overseer,  who  daily  paid  him  a  visit, 
that  if  he  did  not  have  his  legs  dressed  where  the  dogs 
had  bitten  him,  he  should  die,  "  sho  'nough."  Burton 
made  no  reply,  but  the  nex,t  day  he  took  him  out  of 
the  stocks,  and  let  him  go. 

For  two  months  he  remained  in  his  cabin;  and 
though  his  wife  had  dressed  his  wounds  with  the  great- 
est care,  five  of  them  were  still  unhealed.  Then  the 
order  came  for  him  to  go  to  work ;  and  though  he  was 
still  very  weak,  he  dared  not  refuse  obedience.  "  He 
had  lost  a  heap  o1  time,  but  mass'r  Clawed  his  example 
would  sJceer  the  others,  so't  they'd  keep  out  o'  the  woods." 

Burton  swore,  when  he  released  h.im,  that  he  should 
work  every  Sunday  in  the  year  to  make  up  lost  time ; 
and  for  five  Sundays,  he  kept  him  all  day  in  the  field, 
visiting  him  occasionally,  to  see  that  he  was  not  idle. 
After  that,  however,  he  was  released  at  noon  with  his 
companions. 

The  next  day  after  Frank  was  taken,  "  old  man 
John"  was  brought  in.  He  was  not  torn  by  the  dogs, 
for  on  their  approach  he  climbed  a  tree,  where  he  re- 


192          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE  RANSOMED. 

mained  till  Elliott  called  them  off.  No  trace  of  Lewis 
was  discovered,  and  the  hunter,  with  his  dogs,  went 
home. 

About  a  fortnight  after  this,  at  midnight,  Lewis 
came  to  Vollen's  house.  This  was  a  cabin,  near  the 
kitchen ;  Vollen's  wife  being  one  of  the  house  servants. 

"  Is  you  come  in  to  stay?"  said  Vollen. 

"  Don'  know  ;  think  I  better?" 

"Yes,  I  'reckon  you  mought  as  well,  for  de  dogs 
done  tore  Frank  a'most  to  pieces." 

"  What  you  reckon  dey'll  do  if  I  comes  back?" 

"  Don'  know ;  best  ax  ole  mass'r — I'll  go  tell  him 
you  done  come  in." 

Soon  the  master  came  to  the  door.  "  Well,  Lewis," 
said  he,  "you  had  your  race?  Come  back  to  stay, 
eh?" 

"  I  dpn'  know,  sir,  I'll  stay  ef  I  can  be  left  alone, 
and  not  git  whipped  to  death." 

"  Well,  you  go  to  the  kitchen  and  wait  till  morn- 
ing." 

The  slave  obeyed,  though  with  many  misgivings. 
Something  within  urged  him  to  flee ;  but  then  he 
could  not  believe  his  master  would  allow  him  to  be 
beaten  more.  It  surely  would  not  be  for  his  interest 
to  render  him  unfit  for  labor  at  a  season  when  all  the 
the  forces  he  could  summon  were  needed  in  the  field. 

The  master  rose  at  dawn  ;  and  sent  a  note  to  Burton, 
saying  that  Lewis  had  come  in,  and  desiring  him  to 
come  up  "  soon." 

Promptly,  with  rope  in  hand,  the  overseer  presented 
himself  at  the  kitchen  door.  Lewis  threw  at  him  a 
glance  of  angry  defiance.  "  No  I"  cried  he,  as  Burton 


BURTON'S  EEIGN.  193 

attempted  to  tie  him,  "  my  mass'r  's  yer ; — he  cun  kill 
me  if  he  will ;  but  you  shan't  tie  me,  nor  whip  me — 
nary  one.  You's  done  enough  o'  dat  dar." 

"  Cross  your  hands  I"  shouted  Mr.  McKiernan. 

"  Very  well;"  responded  the  slave,  "If  mass'r  says 
so,  you  cun  do  it ;  but  if  he  was  n't  her,  I'd  die  fus." 

"Lewis,"  said  his  master,  "I  want  Mr.  Burton  to 
make  me  a  crop  ;  and  how  can  he  do  it,  if  you  all  are 
off  to  the  woods  ?" 

"  I'se  willin',  sir,  to  help  make  you  a  crap,"  replied 
the  slave,  "  but  when  you  gits  such  a  mean  oversee', 
whar  whips  all  de  time,  I  can't  stand  it." 

"  Burton,"  said  the  master,  "  you  take  your  satisfac- 
tion out  of  him,  and  then  give  him  an  extra  fifty  for 
me ,  to  make  him  tell  who  fed  him  when  he  was 
out." 

With  a  grim  smile  upon  his  repulsive  face,  the  over- 
seer led  Lewis  to  the  smoke-house,  and  put  him  in  the 
stocks;  then,  leaving  him  there  to  meditate  upon  the 
manifold  benefits  ensuing  to  his  poor  heathen  race 
from  being  allowed  to  dwell  in  a  Christian  country,  he- 
went  out  .to  see  that  all  his  other  subjects  had  com- 
menced their  daily  toil  in  accordance  with  the  orders 
he  had  given  them. 

After  dinner,  he  went  in  to  chastise  his  victim.  He 
fastened  his  wrists  in  their  appropriate  mortise,  and 
then,  lighting  his  pipe,  sat  down  to  his  delightful 
task. 

Burton  was  in  his  element.  He  wasted  not  his 
strength  by  violent  exercise  or  undue  excitement,  for 
his  long  arms  swayed  leisurely  in  unison  with  his 
pleasant  thoughts.  He  had  plenty  of  time  to  u  take  his 
satisfaction,"  and  at  every  cut  of  the  cowhide  that 
9 


194         THE    KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

forced  an  extraordinary  groan  from  the  prostrate 
wretch  before  him,  a  gleam  of  fiendish  exultation 
flitted  across  his  savage  face ;  and  through  his  closed 
teeth  he  hissed  :  "  Ah !  that's  a  good  one ;  it  takes  me 
to  break  a  nigger  in."  • 

When  he  had  given  him  enough  for  once,  he  called 
two  of  the  boys,  and  ordered  them  to  make  "  a  bucket 
of  strong  pickle."  and  carry  it  to  his  house.  "  My 
wife,"  said  he,  "  will  put  in  some  spirits  of  turpentine, 
and  then  it  will  do  to  rub  down  this  gentleman." 

They  soon  brought  the  brine,  prepared  according  to 
his  directions ;  and  then,  by  his  command,  they 
washed  poor  Lewis  from  head  to  foot.  Oh !  how  he 
shrieked  and  writhed  as  the  stinging  fluid  penetrated 
every  bleeding  gash  the  cruel  whip  had  made  !  Then, 
after  giving  him  a  few  more  cuts,  as  he  said,  "  to  beat 
the  medicine  in,"  Burton  loosened  his  wrists,  and, 
leaving  his  feet  still  in  the  stocks,  went  out  and  locked 
the  door. 

For  four  days,  the  s.lave  remained  fast  in  the  stocks ; 
his  loneliness  unbroken,  save  by  a  daily  visit  from  the 
overseer,  who  came  in  "just  to  give  him  a  few  cuts  to 
wafce  him  up."  By  this  time  his  wounds  were  much 
inflamed,  and  he  begged  to  be  allowed  to  go  to  his 
cabin  and  put  on  clean  clothes. 

Burton  granted  this  request ;  but  placed  him  in 
charge  of  two  other  slaves,  who  were  informed  that  if 
they  did  not  bring  him  back  when  he  had  changed  his 
clothes,  they  should  take  "  the  same  bounty." 

They  led  him  to  his  cabin,  and  his  wife  called  in 
several  of  the  other  women  to  see  his  back.  Yin  a 
was  one  of  these.  She  says:  "When  I  went  in  the 
door,  Lucy  was  a  wettin'  his  shirt  with  warm  water  to 


BUETON'S  KEIGN.  195 

loosen  it  from  his  back  ;  and  his  two  children,  Charles 
and  'Muthis,  was  a  cryin'  like  their  hearts  was  done 
broke.  Lucy  soak  the  shirt  a  long  time,  till  she  think 
it  done  got  loose  ;  but  a  heap  o'  times,  when  she  tried 
to  pull  it  up,  it  fotch  up  welts  o'  flesh  about  the  size  o' 
my  finger  'long  with  it.  Then  the  blood  trinkle  down 
his  back,  and  'peared  like,  he'd  faint,  constant.  She 
wash  his  back  till  it  done  stop  bleedin',  and  then  she 
kivered  it  all  over  with  tallered  plasters.  Then,  when 
he  got  his  clean  clothes  on,  the  men  whar  fotch  him 
from  the  smoke-house,  they  carried  him  back.  Lucy 
and  her  children  stood  in  the  door,  and  watched  him 
till  he  done  got  out  o'  sight ;  and  'peard  like,  they  all 
would  sob  theirselves  to  death." 

This  was  Sunday.  Early  the  next  morning  Lewis 
was  taken  out  of  his  prison,  and  led  by  two  men  to 
the  blacksmith's  shop,  to  receive  "  the  runaway's 
irons."  An  iron  ring,  weighing  fourteen  pounds,  was 
welded  on  his  ankle ;  and  to  that  was  fastened  one  end 
of  a  heavy  log-chain,  the  other  end  of  which  was 
brought  up  and  passed  twice  around  his  waist,  where 
it  was  secured  by  a  lock.  A  collar  was  then  put 
around  his  neck,  from  which  an  iron  horn  extended 
on  each  side  nearly  to  the  point  of  the  shoulder. 

He  was  then  sent  to  the  field,  and  forced  to  work, 
though  he  could  hardly  drag  himself  along.  Through 
all  the  long  hot  summer  days  those  heavy  irons  galled 
his  neck  and  ankle,  and  even  on  the  Sabbath  he  had 
no  rest.  "Sometimes,"  says  Vina,  "  'peared  like  he 
would  runjcrazy.  But  he  never  got  no  pity  from 
them  whar  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble.  They 
only  laughed  at  his  misery,  makin'  out  like  thar's 
nuthin'  bad  enough  for  runaways." 


196          THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  KANSOMED. 

One  wet  morning  in  the  summer,  Burton  told 
Abram,  a  blacksmith,  who  was  then  headman  of  the 
hoe  hands,  to  go  to  one  of  the  hills  to  scrape  cotton,  as 
the  bottom  was  too  wet.  Abram  accordingly  led  his 
hands  to  the  hill  which  he  supposed  Burton  meant, 
and  they  all  fell  earnestly  at  work.  Soon  they  saw 
the  overseer  coming  with  his  grey  horse  at  full  gallop. 
"Why  in  h — 1  did  n't  you  go  where  I  told  you?" 
shouted  he  to  Abram. 

"  I  thought  this  yer  de  place,  Sir." 

"  You  thought !  You're  not  to  think  ;  you're  to 
do." 

Abram  attempted  to  explain,  but  Burton  grew  furi- 
ous ;  and  at  last  he  drew  forth"  his  pistol  and  shot  the 
slave  through  the  leg — thus  crippling  him  for  many 
months. 

The  master  "  cursed  and  blustered  a  heap"  about  this, 
but  he  was  so  sure  that  such  a  tight  fellow  must  be  a 
first  rate  overseer,  that  he  could  not  think  of  turning 
him  away. 

Yet  even  he  at  length  grew  weary  of  the  sight  of 
his  ragged,  filthy  people.  "  I  say,  Burton,"  said  he 
one  day,  as  he  rode  through  the  field,  "  how  the  devil 
can  you  work  such  a  miserable  gang  of  niggers? 
"Why  don't  you  make  them  wash  and  mend  their 
clothes  ? 

"  D — n  'em ;  I  don't  care  how  they  look ;"  replied 
the  overseer.  "  If  they  only  work,  I  don't  care  if  the 
lice  eat  'em  alive." 

"Well,  I 'do;  and  by  G — d,  they  look  too  bad.  I 
say,  if  they  don't  wash  and  mend  their  clothes,  you 
give  them  the  devil." 

Vina  stood  near  and  listened  with  indignation  to 


BURTON'S  REIGN.  197 

this  order.      "When  we   gwine   wash?"    cried  she. 
"  We  got  to  work  every  day,  Sundays  "and  all ;  we 
ain't  got  no  time  to  wash  nor  mend." 
'    "  What  are  you  all  doing  nights,  d — n  you  ?" 

"  We's  a  workin'  for  you,  sir,  all  the  time,  day  and 
night ;  and  drove  and  whipped  till  we's  half  dead,  any 
how." 

He  turned  away.  "  Burton,'-'  said  he,  "  you  might 
as  well  give  the  women  two  hours  by  sun  of  a  Saturday 
to  wash,  for  by  Gr — d,  they're  too  d — d  filthy." 

The  next  Saturday,  just  as  the  sun  was  going  behind 
the  trees,  Burton  dismissed  the  women  to  go  home  and 
wash.  But  they  would  not  please  him  by  accepting 
that  for  "  two  hours  by  sun,"  and  so  on  Monday  morn- 
ing they  went  out  in  the  same  tattered  frocks — the 
rags  sailing  in  the  wind.  They  had  every  week  washed 
their  under  garments  by  night — but  this  they  kept  a 
secret.  They  were  determined  to  look  as  badly  as  they 
could,  until  their  master  should  give  them  at  least  their 
Sundays  to  work  for  themselves. 

The  effect  of  Burton's  constant  whipping  and  crip 
pling  the  hands  was  manifest  in  the  fields.  So  many 
of  the  people  were  driven  to  the  woods,  or  otherwise 
unfitted  for  their  usual  labors,  that  the  corn  was 
choked,  and  the  cotton  could  scarcely  be  seen  amid  the 
tall,  rank  grass. 

This  unpromising  state  of  his  darling  crop  at  length 
opened  the  master's  eyes.  He  rode  through  the  field  one 
day  when  Burton  was  not  there..  "  What  the  devil  ails 
you  all  ?"  said  he  ;  "  I  never  was  in  the  grass  like  this." 

"No  wonder,"  replied  one  of  the  boldest  men, 
"  reckon  you'll  never  git  out  de  grass  long 's  you  keeps 
ole  Burton  yer.  He  knows  nuthin  'bout  farmin,'  no 


198          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

liow ;  he  des  beats  your  people,  and  cuts  'em  up  con- 
stant; dat  dar's  all  he  know.  Dem  whar's  able  to 
work  at  all  can't  do  past  half  a  day's  work,  kase  dey's 
all  so  bruised  and  cut  up." 

' '  Tears  like, ' '  says  Vina,  ' '  this  teched  his  heart.  He's 
mons's  'shamed  o'  bein'  in  the  grass  so  much  wuss  'an 
all  his  neighbors." 

Soon  after  the  angry  old  man  cursed  the  overseer, 
and  ordered  him  off  the  place,  and  though  Burton 
swore  he  would  not  go  till  he  was  ready,  yet  after  a 
few  weeks  he  departed. 

For  the  discharge  of  this  inhuman  monster  the 
master  received  no  thanks.  His  servants  knew  he 
cared  not  for  their  sufferings,  but  only  for  the  grass 
which  waved  so  boldly  in  his  fields  of  corn  and  cotton. 
To  use  the  words  of  Vina,  "  when  it  come  to  that,  they 
didn't  try  to  git  him  out  o'  the  grass.  He  done  kep' 
that  mean  ole  Burton  thar.  all  the  forepart  of  the  year, 
and  let  him  cut  'em  up  'cordin'  to  his  9wn  mercy,  and 
now  they  wasn't  gwine  try  to  make  a  crap.  So  that 
year  we  didn't  make  corn  enough  to  last  till  June.  "We 
had  to  go  half  fed,  and  the  mules  got  so  poor  they'd 
fall  down  in  the  plough.  They  didn't  git  nuthin'  but 
fodder,  for  it  come  mons's  hard  to  have  to  buy  corn." 

The  next  overseer  was  the  reverse  of  Burton.  "  The 
people  all  liked  him  mightily,  and  he  made  an  elegant 
crap  without  any  fuss."  The  stocks  were  empty,  the 
runaway's  irons  laid  by  to  rust,  and  the  cowhide  was 
almost  wholly  idle.  But  this  did  not  suit  the  master  : 
and  before  the  year  closed  he  was  discharged.  Mr. 
McKiernan  declared  that  his  niggers  were  "all  free,  and 
going  about  kicking  up  their  heels  ;"  he  must  get  some- 
body that  would  be ' '  tight."  ' '  Niggers  must  be  kept  down" 


CHAPTER     XXV. 

FIRST    FOUR   YEARS    IN    TUSCUMBIA. 

AT  the  beginning  of  the  year  1842,  Peter  was  hired 
to  Mr.  James  A.  Stoddard,  at  that  time  teacher  of  the 
boys'  school  in  Tuscumbia.  He  was  a  New  England 
man,  an  elder  in  the  Presbyterian  church,  and  an  ex- 
ception to  the  often-quoted  rule,  that  "  persons  who 
have  been  raised  in  the  free  States  make  the  worst 
masters."  . 

The  peaceful  home  of  Mr.  Stoddard,  with  the  light 
labor  which  devolved  upon  him,  formed  a  pleasant  con- 
trast to  the  plantation  where  -he  had  ,spent  the  preced- 
ing year.  He  was  now  well-fed ;  and  was  furnished 
during  the  year  with  four  suits  of  clothes,  which  was 
one  more  than  he  had  been  accustomed  to  receive. 
These  suits  consisted  each  of  a  coarse  cotton  shirt,  with 
roundabouts  and  trousers  of  blue  jean.  They  were 
not  rich,  nor  costly,  it  is  true,  but  they  were  always 
clean. 

During  this  year,  he  went  regularly  once  in  two 
weeks  to  see  his  family,  and  on  these  occasions  he  was 
often  able  to  carry  them  some  little  comforts.  These 
he  earned  by  performing  little  services  for  others  at 
times  when  Mr.  Stoddard  had  nothing  for  him  to  do. 
Sometimes  he  went  on  foot  to  the  plantation,  twelve 
miles  distant,  but  often  some  kind  gentleman  lent  him 

[199] 


200          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   KANSOMED. 

I 

a  horse ;  and  then  with  the  little  package  of  coffee  and 
sugar,  or  perhaps  with  a  comfortable  jacket  for  one  of 
•  his  beloved  sons,  he  rode  along  with  a  hopeful  heart 

Eagerly  did  his  three  boys,  with  their  little  sister, 
watch  for  their  father's  coming ;  and  when  they  heard 
his  approaching  footsteps,'  although  the  night  was  dark, 
they  bounded  forth  to  meet  him  with  shouts  of  joy. 
Ah !  they  knew  he  brought  the  sunshine  in  his  heart. 

In  October  of  this  year,  Miss  Sarah  Gist,  the  second 
daughter  of  his  deceased  master,  was  married  to  young 
John  H.  Hogun,  a  son  of  her  mother's  husband.  The 
eldest  daughter,  Mary,  had  died  about  two  years  after 
the  second  marriage  of  her  mother. 

A  division  of  the  property  was  now  made.  The 
slaves  numbered  thirty-four,  but  to  one  old  man, 
Uncle  Pompey,  the  guardians  of  the  estate  granted  his 
liberty.  The  remaining  thirty-three  were  examined 
and  appraised  by  a  committee  of  five  men ;  and  then, 
after  being  divided  into  three  lots,  they  were  drawn  by 
the  agents  of  the  three  heirs. 

The  lot  in  which  Peter  was  placed  was  drawn  by 
Miss  Sarah's  agent ;  and  the  guardianship  of  his  affairs 
was  consequently  transferred  to  her  father-in-law.  He 
took  charge  of  the  property  of  his  children  until  they 
should  become  of  age,  the  young  bridegroom  at  his 
marriage  being  but  eighteen  years  old,  while  the  bride 
was  only  sixteen. 

Uncle  Pompey,  who  was  kindly  set  free  on  this 
occasion  was  about  eighty  years  old.  His  wife  was 
the  property  of  Eey.  Mr.  L.  of  Leighton.  The  poor 
old  man  was  not  wanted  there,  and  for  some  time  he 
wandered  to  and  fro,  a  prey  to  the  cruelty  of  patrols 
and  other  ruffians  who  abounded  in  that  region.  By 


FIRST  FOUR  YEARS  IN  TUSCUMBIA.  201 

these  lie  was  persecuted  and  beaten  till  Miss  Sarah, 
pitying  his  sufferings,  took  him  home  and  cared  for 
him  during  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

Great  was  the  consternation  among. the  slaves  that 
were  drawn  by  Miss  Sarah  and  her  young  husband, 
when  they  learned  that  the  elder  Hogun  was,  at  least 
for  a  time,  to  be  their  master.  They  knew  his  charac- 
ter, and  feared  that  he  might  take  them  home  to  work 
on  the  plantation.  He,  however,  allowed  them  to 
remain  where  they  were  during  the  year,  and  at 
Christmas  time,  he  hired  them  out  again. 

Mr.  Stoddard  was,  throughout  the  year,  a  kind  friend 
to  Peter;  and  at  its  close,  he  recommended  him  so 
warmly  to  his  pastor,  the  Eev.  Mr.  Stedman,  that  he 
hired  him  for  the  ensuing  year  of  Mr.  Hogun.  Mr. 
Stoddard  soon  after  quitted  teaching,  and  re-opened 
his  store  in  Tuscumbia,  where  he  still  remains — a 
highly  respected  merchant,  and  one  of  the  best  citi- 
zens in  town, 

To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stedman,  Peter  soon  became  ar- 
dently attached.  In  all  their  dealings  with  him  they 
respected  his  humanity  •  and  no  effort  on  their  part 
was  spared  that  could  promote  his  happiness. 

His  duties  were  various,  and  required  all  his  time ; 
but  he  performed  them  cheerfully,  for  his  heart  was  in 
his  work.  He  took  the  whole  care  of  the  Church — 
kept  it  clean,  rang  the  bell,  and  built  fires  when  they 
were  needed.  Then  he  hauled  all  the  wood  for  the 
family,  and  prepared  it  for  the  fire ;  "  hauled  water" 
from  the  spring  for  two  families  besides  his  own;  and 
performed  also  the  duties  of  waiter  and  errand  boy. 
If  the  cook  chanced  to  be  sick  a  day  or  two,  he  took 
her  place,  and  filled  it  with  ability — in  short,  he 
9* 


THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

spared  no  effort  that  could  conduce  to  the  comfort  of 
those  who  showed  bj  their  steady  kindness,  that  they 
regarded  him  as  a  man. 

Morning  and-evening,  when  they  knelt  at  the  family 
altar,  the  servants  were  called  in,  and  as  the  man  of 
God  poured  forth  his  petitions  to  the  Great  Father,  the 
heart  of  the  lowly  slave  was  lifted  upward,  and  from 
the  loving  household  band  a  pure  offering  of  thanks- 
giving ascended  to  the  throne  of  the  Invisible. 

Mrs.  Stedman  was  a  native  of  New  England,  and 

from  her  conversation  and  manners.  Peter  received  his 

_»  * 

first  impressions  of  life  in  "the  North."  Oh!  how 
ardently  he  wished  that  he  might  one  day  behold  that 
Wondrous  land  where  all  are  free  I 

The  Christmas  Holidays  arrived,  but  Peter  instead 
of  going,  as  was  the  usual  custom,  to  spend  them  with 
his  fellow-servants  at  his  mistress'  home,  remained  in 
town  with  his  good  friend,  Mrs.  Stedman.  She  had 
need  of  his  services  until  the  end  of  the  year,  and 
though  his  time  for  that  week  was  his  own,  he  had  no 
wish  to  leave  her. 

His  failure  to  come  out  with  his  fellow-servants,  Mr. 
Hogun  construed  into  a  sign  of  increasing  indepen- 
dence of  his  master's  family.  Such  an  offence  must 
needs  be  punished.  He  therefore  hired  him  for  the 
next  year  to  Mr.  John  Pollock,  a  merchant  of  Tus- 
cumbia.  He  knew  this  would  be  distasteful  to  Peter, 
because  he  would  naturally  choose  to  remain  in  the 
service  of  the  kind  Pastor ;  but  when  the  slave  ven- 
tured to  express  this  preference,  he  received  only 
curses,  and  an  assurance  that  he  "  asked  no  odds  of  a 
nigger."  "You've  got  mighty  independent  all  at 
once;"  said  he,  "couldn't  come  out  Christmas  to -tell 


FIRST  FOUR  YEARS  IN  TUSCUMBIA.  203 

rne  where  you  wanted  to  live ;  so  now  you  shall  go 
where  I  say,  d — n  you." 

On  New  Year's  Day,  1844,  Peter  went  to  Mr.  Pol- 
lock's. Here,  too,  he  was  kindly  treated,  and  his  labor 
was  not  severe.  He  filled  vacancies  among  the  house 
servants,  worked  in  the  garden,  and  was  drayman  for 
the  store,  where  he  slept  whenever  the  clerk  chanced 
to  be  absent.  He  was  diligent  and  faithful ;  and  his 
employer  ever  after  spoke  in  his  praise. 

In  August  of  this  year,  Mr.  Pollock,  at  Peter's  re- 
quest, hired  him  out  to  go  as  cook  with  a  company  of 
gentlemen  to  the  Whig  Mass  Convention  at  Nashville. 

The  party  numbered  sixty-three;  and  they  were 
well  supplied  with  tents,  provisions,  and  various  con- 
veniences for  camping  out  on  the  road.  They  had 
quantities  of  bread  and  bacon,  with  a  store  of  meal  for 
the  indispensable  hot  corn  cake. 

At  about  nine  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  fifteenth 
day  of  August,  the  procession  passed  gaily  through 
the  town.  At  the  doors  and  windows,  bright  eyes 
were  beaming,  and  fair  hands  waved  hopeful  adieus  to 
husbands,  sons,  and  lovers ;  and  though  the  day  was 
intensely  hot,  the  merry  band  responded  in  high 
spirits. 

Many  of  the  gentlemen  rode  their  own  horses,  while 
others  went  in  the  wagons ;  and  conversation,  mirth, 
and  song,  enlivened  all  the  hours.  They  stopped  occa- 
sionally to  rest  their  horses,  and  to  enjoy  for  a  little 
while  the  delicious  shade  at  the  bright  springs  which 
sparkle  here  and  there  in  the  pleasant  Valley  of  the 
Tennessee. 

Just  before  sunset,  they  reached  Blue  Water,  a  quiet 


204:          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

little  stream,  that  flows  between,  banks  of  softest  green 
into  the  lovely  river.  Here  they  encamped  for  the 
night.  The  gentlemen  proceeded  to  put  up  the  tents, 
while  the  servants  built  a  fire,  and  prepared  the  sup- 
per. The  cooking  devolved  on  Peter,  and  a  man  be- 
longing to  Mr.  W ,  of  Florence ;  and  while  they 

vied  with  each  other  in  displaying  their  knowledge  of 
the  elegancies  of  their  art,  the  two  remaining  servants 
were  sent  to  the  neighboring  Whig  farmers  to  bring 
straw  for  the  floors  of  the  tents. 

Forked  sticks  were  then  driven  into  the  ground  to 
support  two  or  three  long  planks  which  had  been 
brought  in  one  of  the  wagons.  These  formed  their 
table,  on  which  were  set  the  bread  and  bacon,  and  the 
hot  coffee  which  had  been  prepared  in  a  great  kettle 
over  the  fire. 

Each  of  the  party  was  supplied  with  a  little  tin  plate, 
which  he  filled  himself,  and  with  this  he  seated  him- 
self on  a  stump  or  on  the  soft  green  turf.  Here  he 
enjoyed  his  simple  supper  with  a  relish  unknown  to 
those  who  pine  for  appetite  beside  the,  heavy-laden 
board  of  luxury. 

After  supper,  wine,  cards  and  merry  conversation 
filled  the  hours,  till  as  sleep  began  to  steal  over  their 
senses,  they  sought  their  tents,  where  on  the  clean 
straw  were  spread  their  mattresses  and  blankets,  in- 
viting them  to  gentle  slumbers. 

The  early  morning  found  them  all  astir.  Hot  coffee 
steamed  on  the  rude  table,  and  a  hearty  breakfast  was 
soon  dispatched.  Then  the  tents  were  struck,  and, 
with  the  blankets  and  cooking  utensils,  the  slaves  re- 
placed them  in  the  wagons.  The  horses,  which  after 
being  well  fed,  had  been  hitched  to  the  trees  at  night, 


I 

FIRST  FOUR  YEARS  IN  TUSCUHBIA.  205 

were-  soon  prepared  •  for  motion,  and,  with  a  loud 
"Hurrah!"  the  party  commenced  their  second  day's 
journey. 

At  every  town  through  which  they  passed,  they 
were  greeted  with  welcoming  shouts.  Ladies  waved 
their  hands  as  they  passed  by,  and  little  children  raised 
their  tiny  flags,  and  cried,  "  Hurrah  for  Clay  I" 

They  reached  Nashville  on  the  eighteenth,  at  noon. 
The  Convention  was  already  in  session ;  and  the  white 
tents  of  other  visitors  dotted  the  green  fields  and 
groves  in  the  suburbs,  while  in  the  wood  southeast  of 
the  city,  were  set  long  tables  for  the  entertainment  of 
the  guests  from  abroad.  These  tables  were  abundantly 
furnished  by  the  Whigs  of  the  city  with  substantial 
viands,  suited  to  the  taste  of  all.  Bands  of  music  en- 
livened the  groves,  and  it  seemed  a  universal  gala  day. 

Stands  for  speakers  were  erected  at  various  places  in 
the  city;  and  wordy  politicians  talked  themselves 
hoarse  on  the  beauties  of  high  tariffs,  and  the  disastrous 
consequences  that  would  follow"  the  election  of  Mr. 
Polk.  Banners  with  full-length  portraits  of  the  great 
Kentucky  statesman  were  borne  in  front  of  processions 
through  the  streets — though  Mr.  Clay  himself  sat  in 
his  quiet  home. 

The  Tuscumbia  delegation  pitched  their  tents  on  a 
hill  near  the  city,  and  at  once  entered  heartily  into  the 
excitement.  Their  four  servants  also,  keenly  enjoyed 
these  lively  times,  which  formed  a  variation  in  their 
monotonous  existence;  and  to  this  day  the  stirring 
scenes  and  noisy  crowds  of  the  great  Convention  form 
the  basis  of  many  a  tale,  which  beguiles  the  dreary 
hours  of  toil. 

They  spent  a  week  in  the  city ;  though  the  Conven- 


I 

206         THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

tion  adjourned  three  days  after  their  arrival.  The  re- 
maining time  was  spent  by  the  gentlemen  in  visiting 
friends,  or  in  such  other  amusements  as  were  suited  to 
their  various  tastes  and  habits. 

Peter  had  hoped  that,  during  his  stay  at  Nashville, 
he  might  find  some  chance  to  escape  from  slavery ; 
and  it  was  with  this  purpose  in  his  heart,  that  he  asked 
leave  to  go.  He  had  brought  with  him  his  little  stock 
of  money — only  fifteen  dollars,  it  is  true,  but  it  seemed 
to  him  a  large  sum,  and  he  was  sure  it  would  do  him 
"  a  heap  of  good"  if  he  were  free.  Thoughts  of  leav- 
ing his  dear  wife  and  children  made  him  very  sad ; 
but  the  idea  of  freedom  was  mighty ;  and  he  resolved 
to  try. 

He  walked  in  the  evening  down  to  the  river,  but  on 
no  boat  could  he  espy  a  corner  where  he  might  hide 
and  sail  away  to  the  far  land  of  the  free.  He  could 
not  be  long  absent  from  the  camp  without  being  missed 
by  some  of  his  many  masters ;  and  when  the  week  had 
passed  away,  and  the  company  were  about  to  return, 
he  had  been  able  to  discover  no  avenue  of  escape.  So 
he  aided  in  the  preparations  for  the  homeward  journey ; 
and  smothered  in  his  heart  those  wild  longings  for 
liberty  that  had  so  long  been  struggling  there  for 
breath. 

The  gentlemen  all  noticed  with  approval  his  active 
industry,  and  enjoyed  the  comforts  which  they  owed 
to  his  quick  perceptions  of  order  and  fitness  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  their  few  conveniences ;  yet  not  one  of 
them  guessed  what  a  brave,  true  heart  he  bore ;  or 
how  that  heart,  like  a  caged  bird,  was  even  then  beat- 
ing and  struggling  to  be  free.  Their  return  home  was 
gayer  even  than  their  outward  journey.  Jests  and 


FIRST  FOUR  YEARS  IN  TUSCUMBIA.  207 

merriment  abounded.  Amusing  experiences  during 
their  sojourn  in  the  city  were  reviewed;  and  none 
noticed  or  cared  that  the  servant  was  less  happy  than 
his  masters. 

Arrived  once  more  at  home,  Peter  moved  on  in  the 
old  channels.  His  failure  to  escape  from  thraldom 
had  not  caused  him  to  despair ;  and  as  each  day  he 
fulfilled  his  round  of  duties,  the  hope  was  strong  within 
him  that  a  brighter  morn  would  yet  appear. 

On  the  first  day  of  1845,  Peter  entered  the  service 
of  Mr.  Michael  Brady,  a  wealthy  Irishman,  also  a  mer- 
chant of  Tuscumbia.  He  was  a  young  bachelor  of 
pleasing  manners  and  strict  business  habits. 

Peter  had  now  better  opportunities  than  he  had 
ever  before  enjoyed  for  gaining  general  information. 
He  was  employed  about  the  store,  in  waiting  on  his 
young  master,  and  doing  errands;  and  he  was  fre- 
quently an  interested  listener  to*  conversations  which 
they  did  not  dream  he  had  the  sense  to  understand. 
He  had  also  many  opportunities  of  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  the  citizens  of  the  town,  *and  his  habits 
of  close  observation  tended  to  his  rapid  advancement 
in  a  knowledge  of  human  nature.  Even  at  this  time 
few  more  correct  judges  of  character  could  be  found  in 
town  than  this  quiet,  docile  slave.  He  seemed  to  see 
beneath  the  surface,  and  to  glance  deep  at  the  motives 
of  the  heart. 

Mr.  Brady,  although  extremely  kind  to  Peter,  had 
some  peculiar  notions.  He  paid  for  his  board  at  a 
hotel,  instead  of  letting  him  earn  it  by  waiting  on  the 
table,  as  was  the  custom  with  young  men  who  hired  a 
slave;  and  he  positively  forbade  Peter's  performing 


208         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

the  slightest  service  for  any  person  except  his  partner 
and  himself.  In  this  prohibition  Peter  felt  the  galling 
chains  of  slavery.  He  loved  to  do  a  kindness ;  and  it 
•was  so  natural  to  bring  a  bucket  of  water,  or  to  black 
a  pair  of  boots  for  some  young  gentleman  who  ad- 
dressed him  kindly,  that  he  could  scarcely  avoid 
offering  such  little  services,  though  he  knew  that  thus 
he  should  incur  the  displeasure  of  his  young  master. 

But  Mr.  Brady  was  firm.  He  did  not  intend  that 
his  servant  should  need  favors  from  others.  He  pre- 
ferred supplying  his  wants  himself;  and  often,  when 
Peter  was  going  on  Saturday  night  to  make  his  accus- 
tomed visit  to  his  family,  the  young  man  gave  him 
some  little  present  for  them  from  the  store. 

For  all  these  kindnesses  Peter  was  duly  grateful,  but 
they  did  not  sweeten  the  slave-cup.  It  still  overflowed 
with  bitterness ;  and  in  his  heart  he  spurned  the  draught, 
and  vowed  he  would  be  free. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 
PETER    HIRES    HIS    TIME. 

THE  next  year,  1846,  the  young  master,  John  H. 
Hogun,  having  become  of  age,  assumed  the  control  of 
his  wife's  property,  and  hired  Peter  to  Mr.  Allen  Pol- 
lock, a  bookseller  of  Tuscumbia. 

Mr.  Pollock  had,  some  weeks  before  Christmas,  pro- 
posed to  Peter  that  he  should  live  with  him  the  ensu- 
ing year,  and  hire  his  own  time.  He  had  not  much 
for  him  to  do,  he  said,  and  after  cutting  his  wood, 
putting  his  store  in  order,  blacking  "his  boots,  and 
doing  such  other  small  jobs  as  might  be  necessary,  he 
could  get  work  elsewhere  in  town  ;  and  all  he  earned 
above  the  eighty-five  dollars  hire  which  Hogun  must 
receive,  should  be  Ms  own.  True,  this  arrangement 
was  against  the  law,  but  if  it  were  kept  secret,  it  could 
do  no  harm. 

For  a  long  time  Peter  hesitated.  Mr.  Pollock  was 
said  to  be  a  close,  penurious  man,  and  our  student  of 
human  nature  doubted  the  disinterestedness  of  his 
motives.  Still  there  was  a  chance  that  he  might  suc- 
ceed in  saving  something ;  he  might,  at  least,  procure 
more  comforts  for  his  family  than  they  had  yet  pos- 
sessed ;  and  he  at  length  resolved  to  try. 

[209] 


210          THE    KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

So  the  bargain  was  concluded;  openly  with  Mr. 
Hogun,  privately  between  Mr.  Pollock  and  the  slave ; 
and  Peter  entered,  trembling,  upon  the  new  year.  He 
had  never  before  occupied  so  respectable  a  position. 
The  eighty-five  dollars  must  be  earned,  and  that  was  a 
great  sum  to  be  raised  by  dimes  and  half  dimes,  for 
doing  little  jobs  about  town. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  store  was  Major  Pope's 
hotel,  where  he  engaged  his  board,  for  which  he  was  to 
pay  by  waiting  on  the  table.  He  then  looked  about  for 
work ;  and  was  recommended  by  some  friend  to  the 
teachers  of  the  Ladies'  School,  as  a  neat  and  careful 
man,  who  would  be  capable  of  keeping  the  rooms  in 
order,  and  of  performing  any  other  labor  that  might  be 
required  about  the  building.  He  was  immediately 
engaged  for  this  service,  which  occupied  him  two  or 
three  hours  each  day. 

He  also,  now  and  then,  found  whitewashing  to  do ; 
and  when  extra  servants  were  wanted  on  occasion  of  a 
wedding  or  a  party,  he  found  profitable  employment. 
If  a  cook  was  sick,  he  was  competent  to  take  her  place ; 
and  when  some  weary  child  of  earth  had  finished  his 
short  pilgrimage,  Peter  was  called  upon  to  hollow  his 
lowly  grave. 

He  was  at  the  same  time  hired  by  the  month  to  take 
care  of  several  stores — to  sweep,  black  boots,  take  up 
ashes,  and  bring  water ;-  and  thus  he  became  well  known 
to  most  of  the  business  men  in  town. 

The  young  gentlemen  frequently  gave  parties  at  the 
Franklin  House,  then  the  principal  hotel  in  town. 
They  furnished  the  refreshments  and  table  furniture, 
merely  occupying  the  rooms  of  the  hotel  for  which 
they  paid  a  reasonable  sum.  On  these  occasions,  Peter 


PETER  HIRES  HIS  TIME.          211 

was  invaluable.  Ho  prepared  the  rooms  and  arranged 
the  tables,  and  the  pleasures  of  the  evening  were  never 
marred  by  neglect  or  carelessness  in  his  department. 
Then  he  had  a  quiet  way  of  keeping  things  in  place, 
and  of  seeing  that  the  guests  were  supplied  with  all 
conveniences  throughout  the  evening;  and  after  the 
gay  company  had  dispersed,  he  returned  all  borrowed 
articles,  and  re-arranged  the  furniture  of  the  rooms  in 
its  accustomed  order . 

His  ready  kindness,  and  his  promptness  in  executing 
his  employers'  wishes,  won  him  the  confidence  and 
esteem  of  all  he  served ;  still,  these  numerous  cares  and 
diverse  occupations,  were  extremely  fatiguing.  All  the 
day  long,  and  often  till  late  'at  night,  he  was  in  active 
exercise  of  mind  and  body,  yet  though  his  limbs  grew 
weary,  his  energies  of  spirit  never  drooped. 

Thus  passed  the  year  away.  Every  week  or  two  he 
paid  his  hire  to  Mr.  Pollock,  who  several  times  pro- 
posed to  act  as  his  treasurer.  These  offers  Peter  de- 
clined, excusing  himself  by  saying  that  he  spent  the 
most  of  his  money  to  buy  things  for  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren, and  so  he  had  not  much  to  keep. 

"  I  don't  see,  then,"  said  the  gentleman,  u  any  use  in 
your  hiring  your  time,  if  you  spend  all  your  money." 

" Oh!  that's  what  I  work  for,"  replied  the  slave,  "to 
buy  comforts  for  my  family." 

At  the  end  of  the  year  he  had  saved  seventy-five 
dollars,  besides  having  spent  thirty-five  dollars,  during 
the  year,  on  his  wife  and  children.  But  this  was  a 
profound  secret  to  all  but  Vina.  No  one  in  Tuscumbia 
knew  even  that  he  hired  his  time.  It  was  understood, 
by  those  for  whom  he  labored,  that  Mr.  Pollock  per- 


212        THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

mitted  him  to  make  his  own  bargains,  and  that  to  him 
he  paid  in  all  he  earned. 

His  success  this  year  was  an  astonishment  to  himself. 
It  opened  a  new  world  before  him.  Hitherto,  his  only 
hope  of  escape  from  slavery  had  been  in  flight ;  but 
now  came  other  thoughts.  "  Seventy-five  dollars  in 
one  year !  How  long  would  it  take  to  buy  myself  if 
I  could  get  the  same  chance  every  year  ?  Oh !  if  I 
could  be  free !" 

Towards  the  close  of  the  year.  Mr.  Pollock  pro- 
posed to  his  master  to  hire  Peter  again ;  but  Mr.  Hogan 
declined  making  a  second  bargain  with  him  until  he 
had  consulted  Peter; 

"  Well,  bey,"  said  he,  a  few  days  be/ore  Christmas, 
"  do  you  want  to  live  with  Mr.  Pollock  again  next ' 
year?" 

"No,  Sir,"  replied  Peter,  "I  don't  keer  'bout  livin' 
with  him." 

"  Why,  I  reckon  he's  used  fbn  well  this  year,  and 
he  offers  to  pay  me  up  now  for  your  hire.  I  reckon 
you'll  do  as  well  with  him  as  any  where.  It's  not 
often  that  a  man  offers  to  pay  money  before  it  is  due." 

"  Well,  Sir,  if  you  hire  me  to  Mr.  Pollock,  I  shall 
have  to  stay  with  him ;  but  there's  Mr.  Joseph  Fried- 
man— he'll  pay  you  as  well  as  Mr.  Pollock,  and  he'd 
like  to  hire  me  for  next  year." 

The  young  master  immediately  called  on  Mr.  Fried- 
man, and  learning  that  what  Peter  had  told  him  was 
corrgct,  he  hired  him  to  the  Jew  before  he  left  the 

yre. 

The  Jew !  Yes ;  Joseph  Friedman  was  a  German 
Jew,  who  had  resided  in  Tuscumbia  for  sis  or  seven 


PETER  HIRES  HIS  TIME.  213' 

years.  He  came  there  at  first  with  a  small  stock  of 
goods  and  opened  a  store,  and  by  untiring  industry 
and  strict  economy  he  had  now  accumulated  a  hand- 
some little  fortune. 

He  was  small  in  stature,  with  the  black  hair  and    / 
keen  dark  eyes  peculiar  to  his  race.     Associated  with  / 
him  in  business  was  his  younger  brother,  Isaac,  who/ 
was  taller  and  handsomer  than  Joseph,  but  scarcely 
equal  in  sagacity  and  force  of  character. 

At  the  commencement  of  "their  sojourn  in  Tuscumbia, 
these  Jews,  the  first  that  hapl  ever  settled  in  that  region, 
were  regarded  with  suspicion  and  dislike.  But  as  their 
stern  integrity  and  manly  independence  of  character 
became  known  to  the  citizens,  the  prejudice  excited  by 
their  peculiarities  of  religion  and  manners  gradually 
subsided.  As  business  men,  they  gained  the  confidence 
of  the  public,  and  though  they  never  mingled  freely  in 
society,  they  were  no  longer  exposed  to  rudeness  or 
neglect.  -  \ 

Peter  during  the  past  year,  had  been  mysteriously 
attracted  towards  these  somewhat  isolated  brother;. 
His  thoughts  had  been  intensely  occupied  in  devisin  5 
some  method  by  which  he  might  yet  taste,  that  liberty, 
which,  notwithstanding  he  had  been  forty  years  a  slaw, 
he  still  felt  was  his  right.  Day  and  night  he  had  pon- 
dered this  subject ;  but  one  great  difficulty  was  ever 
present  to  his  mind.  He  knew  not  a  man  whom'  he 
could  trust.  If  he  dared  to  breathe,  in  human  ear,  his 
wish  for  freedom,  the  bold  thought  might  be  reported 


to  his  master,  and  from  that  moment  he  would 


be 


looked  upon  as  unsafe  property.  The  consequence  of 
this  might  be  a  sale,  and  a  journey  to  the  low  country  ; 
and  then  the  light  of  hope  would  be  forever  quenched. 


214          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

And  even  if  his  master  should  be  willing  to  sell  him 
to  himself,  what  security  could  he  have  that  he  wtmld 
not  deceive  him,  and  while  he  took  his  hard-earned 
ransom,  retain  him  also  in  his  iron  grasp  ?  His  long 
acquaintance  with  slavery  in  every  guise  had  made 
him  wary.  He  remembered  Spencer  Williams  of  Lex- 
ington, who  three  times  paid  the  price  of  his  own  re- 
demption, and  was  at  last  sent  to  the  hated  South  in 
chains.  No  wonder  that  Peter  trembled  at  the  thought 
of  such  a  blighting  of  his  budding  hopes.  No  wonder 
that  he  weighed  each  Avord  that  fell  upon  his  ear,  in 
order  to  discern  the  spirit  of  the  speaker.  Oh !  that 
he  knew  a  man  of  soul  so  brave  that  he  could  safely 
confide  to  him  his  heart's  great  secret !  There  might 
be  many  such  in  town ;  but  how  could  he  distinguish 
them  from  those  whose  flattering  words  proceeded  from 
the  deep,  dark  caverns  of  deceitful  hearts  ? 

"While  his  ear  was  thus  eagerly  bent  to  catch  the 
breath  of  honesty,  some  chance  remarks  of  Mr.  Fried- 
man drew  his  attention.  The  Jew  made  no  display  of 
his  opinions,  or  declaration  of  his  principles ;  but  ut- 
tered merely  some  careless  sentence,  which  revealed 
his  sympathy  with  the  suffering,  and  his  hatred  of  in- 
justice and  oppression.  Peter  had  often  performed 
slight  services  for  the  two  brothers,  and  whenever  he 
was  in  their  presence,  although  no  word  respecting 
himself  was  uttered,  he  felt  that  he  was  regarded  as  a 

man- 
It  was  this  feeling  which  induced  him,  before  his 
ear  expired  at  Mr.  Pollock's,  to  ask  Mr.  Friedman  to 
•e  him  for  the  ensuing  year.     If  he  could  persuade 
im  to  do  this,  he  could  have,  an  opportunity  to  be- 
more  thoroughly  acquainted  with  his  character ; 


PETER  HIRES  HIS  TIME.  215 

and  perhaps — oh!  how  the  bare  idea  -  thrilled  his 
frame ! — perhaps  he  should  thus  discover  the  path  to 
liberty. 

To  Peter's  request  the  Jew  readily  assented,  and,  as 
before  related,  the  bargain  with  his  master  was  con- 
cluded. 

On  the  first  day  of  January,  1847,  Peter  commenced 
his  labors  tinder  the  protection  of  Mr.  Friedman. 
cording  to  their  private  contract,  he  was  to  board  and  \ 
clothe  himself;  and  then,  whatever  he  earned  above 
his  hire  should  be  his  own.     He  waited  on  the  table  at     \ 
a  hotel,  as  during  the  previous  year,  to  pay  his  board ;      ) 
and  his  clothing  cost  him  very  little — as  the  Friedman   y 
brothers  gave  him  all  their  cast-off  clothes,  as  well  as  / 
occasionally  the  material  for  a  new  garment  from  the/ 
store.     Besides  these,  he  frequently  received  presents 
of  half-worn  clothing  from  other  young  men  whom  he 
was  always  glad  to  serve  ;  or  from  married  ladies,  of 
discarded  articles  from  the  wardrobe  of  their  husbands. 

These  clothes,  however,  he  never  wore,  but  sold 
them  to  slaves  from  the  surrounding  plantations — re- 
ceiving in  payment,  eggs,  chickens,  or  any  little  pro- 
ducts of  their  patches,  which  they  brought  into  town 
for  sale.  These  articles  he  conveyed  to  the  hotel, 
where  they  were  always  in  demand,  and  so  were 
speedily  converted  into  money.  He  always  appeared 
in  the  same  attire — blue  roundabout  and  trowsers,  with 
strong  shoes ;  and  a.more  respectable  looking  servant 
could  not  be  seen  in  all  the  town. 

At  the  opening  of  this  year,  Mr.  A.  E.  Sloan,  form- 
erly of  Syracuse,  N.  Y.,  who  had  purchased  the  in- 
terest in  the  school  of  the  former  Principal,  established 
the  Tuscumbia  Female  Seminary.  Mr.  Sloan  was  a 


216          THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

gentleman  of  agreeable  personal  appearance,  scrupu- 
lously neat  in  his  dress  and  surroundings,  and  orderly 
to  fastidiousness.  He  determined  at  once  to  establish 
in  the  school  a  new  system  of  order  and  discipline ; 
and  soon  made  inquiries  for  a  person  competent  to 
carry  out  his  plans  in  the  arrangement  pf  the  school- 
rooms. Peter  was  the  first  one  named  to  him,  and  he 
immediately  secured  his  services.  This  measure  he 
afterwards  found  no  reason  to  regret,  for  so  quiet  was 
he,  and  yet  so  prompt  and  regular  in  the  performance 
of  his  duties,  that  soon  his  presence,  for  a  few  hours 
each  morning,  seemed  indispensable  to  the  comfort  of 
the  school.  A  few  weeks  later,  Mr.  G.  H.  King,  of 
Northampton,  Mass.,  came  on  to  teach  music.  He, 
too,  soon  learned  Peter's  excellent  traits  of  character, 
and  gave  him  employment  whenever  he  had  pianos  to 
move,  or  any  work  to  be  done  which  required  careful- 
ness and  promptitude. 

He  was  now  employed  about  the  school-rooms  a 
much  greater  proportion  of  his  time  than  he  had  been 
during  the  preceding  year.  His  grateful  love  for  Mrs. 
Stedman  had  predisposed  him  in  favor  of  Northern 
ladies ;  and  as  at  the  Seminary  he  ever  received  kind 
looks  and  pleasant  words,  he  soon  became  warmly 
attached  to  all  the  teachers.  Yet  he  never  confided  to 
one  of  them  his  secret.  They  regarded  him  as  an  em- 
bodiment of  good  humor  and  content;  never  imagin- 
ing that  the  idea  of  freedom  had  been  struggling  in 
his  breast  for  years.  Once  or  twice,  he  says,  he  was  on 
the  point  of  opening  his  heart  to  one  of  the  young 
ladies,  but  when  he  tried  to  speak  the  great  hope  that 
was  swelling  in  his  breast,  something  seemed  to  choke 
him,  and  he  could  not  utter  it.  He  took  an  oppor- 


PETER  HIRES  HIS  TIME.          217 

tunity  however,  to  sound  Messrs.  Sloan  and  King  on 
the  subject  of  slavery  ;  and  they  represented  the  con- 
dition of  the  slaves  as  so  far  above  that  of  the  free 
blacks  at  the  North,  that  he  judged  it  would  be  idle  to 
look  to  them  for  sympathy  in  his  one  engrossing  hope. 

"Why,  Peter,"  said  Mr.  King,  "negroes  in  the 
North  do  not  fare  half  as  well  as  you,  and  they  are  not 
so  well  thought  of.  Few  people  will  employ  them  or 
trust  them  they  are  shunned  and  disliked.  To  tell 
the  truth,  most  of  them  deserve  no  better  treatment ; 
for  they  are  an  idle,  worthless  set  of  fellows." 

All  this  did  not  discourage  Peter.  A  voice  within 
him  whispered,  "  Toil  on  I  Heed  not  such  words  as 
these  !  Liberty  is  before  you ;  and  you  have  drunk 
too  deep  in  slavery  to  believe  that  freedom  would  ren- 
der you  less  happy,  or  less  worthy  of  esteem." 

The  confidence  between  the  worthy  Jew  and  his 
faithful  servant  was  constantly  on  the  increase ;  yet,  as 
the  year  drew  near  its  close,  and  Mr.  Friedman  made 
no  advances  towards  hiring  him  for  the  next,  Peter 
became  uneasy.  Several  other  persons  had  proposed 
hiring  him,  but  he  had  told  them  all  that  he  thought 
Mr.  Friedman  wished  to  keep  him  another  year. 

At  length,  when  Christmas  was  very  near,  he  one 
day  saw  his  young  master  across  the  street,  and  he  re- 
solved to  terminate  his  suspense  So  he  approached 
the  Jew.  "  Look  yer,  sir,"  said  he,  "  ain't  you  wil- 
lin'  to  do  the  same  by  me  next  year  that  you  have 
done?" 

"Yes,  Peter." 

"  Well,  are  you  satisfied  with  the  way  I  have  done 
this  year  ?" 

"  Yes ; — are  you  satisfied  ?" 


218          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANOSMED. 

"  Yes,  sir,  to  be  sure  I  am  :  and  if  you're  willin'  to 
do  agin  like  you've  done  this  year,  why  don't  you  go 
and  hire  me  ?  Thar's  my  master,  over  yon." 

"  I  see  him  there,  but  I  will  not  run  to  speak  to 
him." 

"Well,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  delighted  slave,  "I'll 
tell  him  you  want  to  hire  me  ;  and  we  shan't  have  no 
new  bargain  to  make;  if  you'll  do  like  you  have 
done,  so  will  I." 

The  conference  ended,  and  soon  Peter  was  hired  for 
another  year  to  Joseph  Friedman. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
PETER  BUYS  HIMSELF. 

PETER  commenced  the  year  1848  with  high  hopes. 
His  last  year's  gains  had  greatly  encouraged  him,  for 
he  had  laid  up,  besides  expending  over  thirty  dollars 
for  his  family,  one  hundred  and  five  dollars ;  which, 
with  thirty  dollars  which  he  had  saved  before  he  hired 
his  time,  and  the  seventy-five  that  he  had  accumulated 
while  with  Mr.  Pollock,  made  two  hundred  and  ten 
dollars  now  in  his  possession. 

The  hope  of  being  free  he  had  thus  far  communi- 
cated to  none  but  his  true-hearted  wife ;  but  now,  as 
he  had  become  satisfied  that  Mr.  Friedman  was  his 
friend,  he  determined  to  seek  his  co-operation  in  his 
plan.  This  resolution  was  not  formed  without  the 
most  careful  consideration ;  and  yet,  when  he  ap- 
proached the  counting-room  for  the  purpose  of  opening 
to  the  Jew  his  cherished  plans,  his  heart  throbbed 
painfully,  and  his  knees  trembled  so  that  he  could 
scarcely  walk. 

"  Mr.  Friedman,"  said  he,  "  I've  got  something  I 
want  to  tell  you,  but  it 's  a  great  secret." 

"  Well,  Peter " 

"  I've  been  «  thinkin',  sir,  I'd  like  to  buy  myself; 
and  you've  always  dealt  so  fa'r  with  me,  I  did  n't  know 
but  you  mought  buy  me,  and  then  give  me  a  chance." 

[219] 


220          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

The  Jew's  countenance  brightened.  He  had  become 
much  attached  to  Peter,  and  had  often  wished  in  his 
heart  that  by  some  means  the  faithful  fellow  might 
be  free,  but  such  a  plan  as  this  had  not  occurred  to 
him. 

"  Can  you  get  the  money,  Peter  ?" 

"  I  reckon  I  could,  if  you  did  n't  pay  too  high  for 
me.  Mars,  John  Henry  ought  n't  to  ask  a  great  price 
for  me,  no  how,  when  I'ye  served  the  family  so 
long." 

"  How  much  shall  I  give  for  you  ?" 

"  I  think,  sir,  five  hundred  dollars  is  as  much  as 
you  ought  to  pay." 

"  Hogun  will  not  sell  you  for  that  price,"  said  the 
Jew.  "  John  Pollock  offered  him  six  hundred,  and 
he  laughed  at  him.  Some  men  in  town  would  give 
eight  hundred  dollars  for  you — not  because  you  are 
worth  so  much,  but  because  they  know  you." 

"  "Well,  sir,  I  have  served  the  family  for  thirty -five 
years.  I  have  earned  'em  a  heap  of  money,  and  have 
been  mighty  little  trouble  or  expense.  They  can  af- 
ford to  sell  me  for  five  hundred  dollars." 

"  Yes : — well,  I  will  speak  to  Hogun." 

The  proposition  of  the  Jew  received,  at  first,  but 
little  favor.  Peter  was  an  old  family  servant,  and 
they  intended  to  keep  him  in  the  family  as  long  as  he 
lived.  They  did  not  wish  to  sell  him. 

"  Well,"  said  Friedman,  "  I  would  like  to  buy  him. 
He  has  a  cough,  and  if  he  belonged  to  me,  I  would 
try  to  cure  it,  but  while  he  is  your  property,  I  can  do 
nothing  for  him.  I  will  give  you  five  hundred 
dollars." 

Hogun  turned  away.     He  did  not  want  to  sell  the 


PETEE  BUYS  HIMSELF.  221 

» 

boy ;  if  he  did,  that  was  no  price  for  him.     He  would 
bring  twice  that  sum. 

A  few  months  after  this  conversation,  Joseph  Fried- 
man went  to  the  "Eed  Biver  Country,"  where  he 
opened  a  store  ;  leaving  his  brother  Isaac  in  charge  at 
Tuscumbia.  This  made  no  change  in  Peter's  con- 
dition. He  toiled  oii  as  before,  steadily  adding  to  his 
precious  gains,  while  the  great  hope  of  freedom  grew 
stronger  in  his  heart. 

Soon  after  his  brother  left  town,  Isaac  renewed  to 
Mr.  Hogun  the  proposition  to  purchase  Peter,  but 
with  no  more  success.  The  young  mistress  did  not 
want  him  sold;  especially  to  a  Jew,  who  had  no 
higher  wish  than  to  make  money.  He  would  pro- 
bably soon  sell  him  again :  for  what  use  had  he  for  a 
servant  ? — and  then,  perhaps,  the  poor  old  fellow 
would  be  carried  away  to  the  "  low  country." 

After  several  attempts  to  purchase  him  had  been 
unsuccessful,  Peter  determined  to  try  the  power  of  his 
own  eloquence.  Accordingly,  during  the  last  week 
of  the  year,  he  went  out  to  the  plantation. 

His  young  mistress  had  gone  with  her  husband  to 
town ;  but  they  soon  returned.  Peter  met  them  at  the 
gate,  and  "Miss  Sarah,"  after  shaking  hands  with  him, 
went  in ;  while  the  young  master  remained  in  the 
yard  to  inquire  after  his  health.  His  cough  was  par- 
ticularly troublesome  whenever  any  of  his  master's 
family  were  near,  and  now  it  annoyed  him  exceed- 
ingly. "Ugh!  ugh!  Mass'r  John  Henry,  I  come  to 
see  you  'bout  Mr.  Friedman  buyin'  me.  I  like  to  live 
with  him ;  and  he  said  he  done  named  it  to  you." 

"Yes,  he  did;  but  he  didn't  offer  any  price  for 
you — only  five  hundred  dollars." 


222          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE  RANSOMED. 

"  Well,  Mass'r  John  Henry,  aint  that  thar  enough 
for  me?" 

*'No — I  can  get  a  thousand  dollars  for  you  any 
day." 

"  Ugh  !  ugh !  I  think  you  mighty  hard  to  ask  such 
a  big  price  for  me  when  I  been  in  your  service  so  long. 
Miss  Sarah  done  got  all  my  arnins  ever  since  I  be- 
longed to  her  great  uncle,  Mars  Nattie  Gist.  Now 
when  I'm  a'most  fifty  years  old,  ugh !  ugh !  ugh  !  I 
think  five  hundred  dollars  is  enough  for  me ;  and 
'pears  like,  sir,  you  oughtent  to  ask  no  more." 

"  Well,  Peter,  you  know  people  like  to  get  all  they 
can  for  their  property ;  and  it  makes  no  difference  to 
you,  any  how,  whether  I  sell  you  for  a  big  price  or  a 
little  one." 

"Yes,  sir,  it  does,  Mass'r  John,  kase  if  a  person 
gives  a  thousand  dollars  for  me,  he  'lows  he's  gwine  to 
work  it  out  of  me ;  but  Mr.  Friedman  just  wants  me 
to  wait  on  him  about  the  store;  and  he  says  he'll 
cure  my  cough,  too — ugh  !  ugh !  He  can't  afford  to 
pay  a  big  price  for  me,  and  then  doctor  me  up." 

"  Well,  go  'long — I  don't  want  to  sell  you  any  how ; 
I'd  rather  bring  you  home  to  wait  on  your  Miss  Sarah, 
and  to  drive  the  carriage  than  to  sell  you  for  any  such 
price." 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  you  and  Miss  Sarah  was  a  livin'  by 
yourselves,  I'd  like  that ;  but  I  don't  never  want  to 
come  back  to  work  on  the  plantation — ugh !  ugh !  I 
couldn't  stand  that  now.  But  I  belong  to  you,  sir,  and 
of  course  I  must  do  just  as  you  say.  What  shall  I  do, 
Mass'r  John?" 

"  Go  back  to  town,  and  stay  till  I  come  to  see  about 
you." 


PETER  BUYS  HIMSELF.  223 

"Goodbye,  Mass'r  John.     Ugh  I  ugh!  ugh!" 

Thus  he  coughed  himself  out  of  the  yard.  All  the 
way  back  to  town  he  walked  with  a  heavy  heart.  If 
his  master  would  not  sell  him,  all  his  bright  hopes 
would  yet  be  blasted.  He  had,  however,  done  all  in 
his  power.  He  had  used  every  argument  that  would  be 
likely  to  influence  him  in  whose  young  hand  his  des- 
tiny was  held — now  he  could  only  wait  with  patience 
the  result. 

"When  the  young  master  was  next  seen  in  town,  the 
Jew  hired  Peter  for  another  year,  and  with  his  wonted 
cheerfulness  of  demeanor,  the  disappointed  slave  en- 
tered upon  the  labors  of  1849.  "Was  there  no.sublim- 
ity  in  his  patience  ? — no  grandeur  in  his  maintenance 
of  Faith  and  Hope  against  the  giant  forces  of  Despair  ? 

It  was  not  long  before  the  young  master's  aversion  to 
sell  an  old  family  servant  was  suddenly  removed.  On 
the  tenth  of  January  an  auction  was  held  in  town  of 
certain  goods — the  property  of  his  late  uncle — "  Old 
Jimmy  Hogun."  Among  these  "goods,"  were  ten 
choice  negroes,  two  of  whom  were  boys  about  sixteen 
years  old.  These  boys,  young  John  Henry  wished  to 
own ;  and  before  they  were  put  up,  he  called  upon  the 
Jew. 

"Look  here,  Friedman,"  said  he,  "you  want  Uncle 
Peter,  and  I  want  those  boys  that  are  for  sale  to-day. 
If  you  will  go  in  and  bid  off  one  of  the  boys  for  me,  I 
will  let  you  have  Peter  in  exchange." 

"I  will  think  about  it.  How  high  will  the  boys 
go?" 

"I  don't  know, — they're  not  worth  as  much  as  a 
tried  hand  like  Uncle  Peter.  Step  in,  and  see  how 
the  sale  goes  on." 


224:         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   KANSOMED. 

He  left  the  store,  and  Mr.  Isaac  immediately  held  a 
consultation  on  the  subject  with  Peter  himself.  The 
slave  objected  to  the  plan.  "  You  are  not  used 
to  dealing  in  slaves,"  said  he,  "  and  you'd  best  not  buy 
the  boy.  There'll  be  some  game  about  it.  If  young 
master  wants  to  buy  him,  he'll  come  round,  I  reckon." 

Soon  the  young  gentleman .  called  again  to  learn 
the  decision  of  the  Jew.  Isaac  renewed  his  former 
offer  for  Peter,  but  declined  to  buy  the  boy. 

"  Five  hundred  dollars  is  no  price  for  such  a  serv- 
ant ;  you  may  have  him  for  six  hundred,  though  he 
is  worth  more." 

"  NQ- — I  will  not  pay  six  hundred." 

Away  way  went  Hogun  to  the  auction.  The  two 
boys  were  soon  to  be  put  up.  He  grew  more  and 
more  and  more  anxious  to  buy  them,  and  at  last  de- 
termined to  make  one  more  effort  to  bring  the  Jew  to 
his  terms. 

"Well,  Friedman,"  said  he,  as  he  stepped  into  the 
store,  "  you  may  have  Peter  for  five  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars." 

The  black  eyes  of  the  Jew  twinkled  with  delighi, 
)$ut  he  was  firm. 

\l    "I  will  give  you  five  hundred  dollars,"  said  he, 
"my  brother  authorized  me  to  pay  that  sum." 

"But,"  argued  Hogun,  "he  is  a  great  favorite  in 
town — I  have  been  offered  six  hundred  dollars  for 
/  him." 

"I  say  I  will  give  five  hundred;  not  one  dollar 
more." 

The  sale  was  going  on — Hogun  grew  desperate. 
The  boys  he  wanted  would  not  wait  for  bidders,  for 
they  were  choice  fellows. 


PETER  'BUYS  HIMSELF.  225 

"Well,"  said  lie,  as  lie  walked  towards  the  door, 
"you  may  have  him  for  five  hundred;  but  it's  a 
shame  to  sell  him  so." 

"  Then  he  is  mine !" 

"Yes." 

"  For  five  hundred  dollars !" 

"Yes." 

"Yery  well,  your  money  will  be  ready  when  you 
want  it." 

Hogun  hastened  back  to  the  auction.  The  boys 
were  just  going  up.  He  bid  off  the  youngest  for  seven 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  the  other  became  the 
property  of  a  planter,  named  W — ,  a  few  miles  south 
of  the  town. 

It  was  night.  At  his  desk  sat  the  young  Jew,  re- 
viewing the  business  of  the  day.  Cautiously  the  door 
was  opened,  and  Peter  entered  the  counting-room — 
pausing  to  listen  before  he  closed  the  door  lest  some 
chance  visitor  might  be  approaching.  All  was  still. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Friedman,"  said  the  slave,  while  his 
voice  trembled,  and  his  whole  frame  was- agitated,  "I've 
come  to  pay  you  that  money ;  and  I  reckon  you  wont 
cheat  me.  I've  worked  mighty  hard  to  get  it.  There's 
three  hundred  dollars  in  this  yer  bag." 

So  saying,  he  drew  the  precious  treasure  from  his 
pocket,  glancing  instinctively  towards  the  corners  of 
the  room,  to  be  sure  that  no  spy  was  there  concealed. 
He  proceeded  to  untie  the  bag.  It  was  made  of 
leather — about  twelve  inches  long,  three  inches  wide 
at  the  bottom,  and  half  that  width  across  the  top. 

It  contained  pieces  of  silver  of  all  sizes,  and  now 
and  then,  as  they  came  forth  with  a  melodious  clink- 


226  THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EANSOMED. 

ing,  a  piece  of  gold  glittered  in  the  lamp-light.*  When 
the  bag  was  about  half  emptied,  Peter  paused.  It  would 
be  so  easy  for  him  to  lose  it  all,  and  he  had  known  so 
many  slaves  defrauded  of  their  hard-earned  gains,  that 
it  seemed  impossible  for  him  to  trust.  "  But,"  thought 
he,  "I've  knowed  Mr.  Friedman  a  long  time,  and  I 
never  knowed  him  to  do  a  mean  trick.  If  I  can't  trust 
him,  the  Lord  help  me !  I  can't  never  be  free  without 
trustin'  some  person,  any  how." 

He  emptied  the  bag  upon  the  table,  and  both  counted 
it  twice.  It  was  right — three  hundred  dollars. 

Mr.  Friedman  wrote  a  receipt  for  the  money,  and 
signing  it,  handed  it  to  Peter.  Poor  fellow  !  He  could 
not  read  it ;  but  he  believed  it  genuine,  and  a  load 
was  lifted  from  his  heart.  After  all,  he  might  be  de- 
ceived. He  was  in  this  man's  power;  but  he  resolved 
to  trust,  and  to  go  to  work  with  all  his  might  to  earn 
the  balance  of  the  sum  required  to  make  him  a  free- 
man. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Hogun  received  the  stipulated  five 
hundred  dollars,  and  gave  a  bill  of  sale,  of  which  the 
following  is  a  copy : 

"  $500.  For  the  consideration  of  five  hundred  dol- 
lars, paid  to  me  this  day,  I  have  sold  to  Joseph  Fried- 

*  It  was  Peter's  custom,  when  he  saw  a  piece  of  gold  in  the 
hands  of  a  gentleman  whom  he  had  served,  to  ask  him  if  he  would 
not  like  change  for  that.  If  he  received  an  affirmative  reply,  he 
would  bring  from  his  precious  bag  the  amount  in  small  silver  coin . 
The  writer  knew  him  at  one  time  to  get  ten  dollars  in  five-cent-piecee, 
changed  for  gold.  His  habits  of  industry  were  so  well  known  that 
such  a  request  excited  no  suspicion — the  small  amount  thus  changed 
at  once  was  presumed  to  be  the  sum  of  the  poor  fellow's  wealth. 


PETER  BUYS  HIMSELF.  227 

man  a  negro  man  named  Peter.  I  bind  myself  and 
heirs  to  defend  the  title  of  said  negro,  Peter,  to  the  said 
Joseph  Friedman  and  his  heirs  against  all  claims  what- 
ever. 

Given  under  my  hand  and  seal  this  loth  January, 
1849.  JOHN  H.  HOGUN." 

Great  sympathy  was  felt  in  Tuscumbia  for  "poor 
Uncle  Peter."  It  was  so  strange  that  Hogun  would »     >" 
sell  such  a  faithful  old  man  to  a  Jew.     Of  course.  Fried-  ^ 
man  wanted  to  make  money  out  of  him ;  and  when  he 
became  no  longer  profitable,  he  would  not  scruple  to 
carry  him  off  and  sell  himT 

Thus  spake  gentlemen  and  ladies;  and  soon  their 
children  caught  the  tone.  "Don't  you  think,"  said 
one  bright  eyed  little  girl  to  another,  as  they  walked 
to  school,  "  Uncle  Peter  is  sold !" 

"  Sold  ?  Tm  so  sorry !  Who's  bought  him  ?  Are 
they  going  to  carry  him  off?" 

"  No — no  not  now.     Mr.  Friedman  's  bought  him  ; 
and  'ma  says  he's  a  Jew,  and  she  says  Jews  will  sett        / 
their  own  children  for  money.     Pa  says  he  don't  doubt     *^ 
that  Mr.  Friedman  will  sell  him  the  very  first  chance 
he  gets  to  make  money  out  of  him  ;  and  then,  perhaps, 
he'll  be  taken  off  to  the  rice  swamps." 

"  Oh !  that  will  be  too  bad !  Aunt  Milly  says  that 
in  the  rice  swamps  they  don't  care  no  more  for  Trilling 
black  folks  than  they  do  for  pigs  and  chickens.  Oh ! 
I'm  so  sorry  for  poor  Uncle  Peter !  But  what  did 
they  sell  him  for  ?  He  did'nt  run  away — nor  his  mas- 
ter did  n't  die." 

"  I  don't  know  what  made  them  sell  him,  his  master 
wanted  the  money,  I  reckon.  Oh!  I  wish  my  Pa 


228          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

owned  him — lie  -would  n't  sell  him,  I  know.  Ma  says 
she  thinks  it's  a  pity  for  black  folks  to  be  sold  at  all, 
but  sometimes  it  can't  be  helped." 

"  W^ll,  I  think  it  ought  to  be  helped,  for  they  feel 
so  bad  to  be  carried  away  off  from  everybody  that 
loves  them.  Just  think — if  Mr.  Friedman  should  sell 
Uncle  Peter  .away  off  where  he  never  could  come  back 
—Oh !  would  n't  it  be  too  bad  ?" 

Said  a  gentleman,  "  Why  did't  you  let  me  know, 
Peter,  that  your  master  wanted  to  sell  you  ?  I'd  not 
have  let  that  Jew  get  you.  He'll  sell  you  again  ;  or, 
perhaps,  work  you  to  death." 

"  No,  sir,  I  reckon  not,"  replied  Peter ;  "  Mr.  Fried- 
man's always,  been  mighty  good  to  me,  and  I  reckon 
he'll  use  me  fa'r.  Leastways,  I  belong  to  him  now, 
and  he'll  do  just  as  he  thinks  best." 

Such  was  the  judgment  pronounced  upon  the  noble- 
hearted  Jew  by  men  and  women  who  had  bought  and 
/sold,  and  beaten,  and  oppressed  the  poor  until  their 
/  cry  had  gone  up  to  heaven.  They  considered  it  their 
!'  right  thus  to  trample  on  their  darker  brethren.  They 
were  born  slaveholders,  and  when  their  servants  ne- 
glected their  duties,  or  so  far  forgot  their  station  as  to 
speak  improperly  to  their  superiors,  they  must  be 
beaten,  though  their  heads  were  grey.  Money,  too, 
was  sometimes  "  tight,"  and  then  the  sale  of  a  few  of 
the  young  negroes  that  were  "  really  in  the  way  about 
the  kitchen"  would  help  to  fill  the  purse.  These  were 
their  rights  under  the  Constitution;  but  for  a  Jew  to  have 
such  power  over  a  choice  old  servant  was  quite  too  bad. 
"  A  foreigner  too  1  How  could  he  know  the  feelings 
of  tenderness  cherished  by  a  true  Southerner  for  his, 
slave?" 


, 


PETEK  BUYS  HIMSELF.  229 

Meanwhile  the  despised  and  suspected  Jew  was  ar- 
ranging, with  the  object  of  all  this  sympathy,  their 
future  relations  to  each  other.  "  You  may  work,  as 
you  did  before,"  said  he  to  Peter,  "but  you  may  keep 
your  earnings.  When  you  get  two  hundred  dollars 
more,  I  will  give  you  free  papers,  and  you  shall 
where  you  like.  I  do  not  want  your  work — get 
you  can  for  yourself." 

Did  the  heart  of  the  slave  bound  at  these  words  ? 
Did  the  tears  of  gratitude  sparkle  in  his  eye  ?  and  the 
bright  beams  of  hope  irradiate  his  countenance  ?  Ah ! 
there  is  One  "  who  seeth  not  as  man  seeth,"  and  in  His 
eye  the  generous  truthfulness  of  the  slandered  Jew 
outshone  the  gaudy  hypocrisy  of  his  traducers. 

Peter  continued  his  usual  labors  with  a  light  heart. 
He  had  now  no  hire  to  pay — his  earnings  were  all  his 
own. 

The  night  after  paying  his  three  hundred  dollars  to 
Mr.  Friedman,  he  went  out  to  make  his  usual  semi- 
monthly visit  to  his  wife.  How  her  heart  throbbed 
when  he  told  her  all !  Again  and  again  she  asked  him 
if  he  were  sure  Mr.  Isaac  would  be  true.  The  chil- 
dren, too,  had  their  hundred  questions.  Their  father 
was  very  dear  to  them ;  and  now  he  possessed  new 
dignity,  even  in  their  eyes.  "  Just  think,  he  would 
soon  be  free !"  No  selfish  dread  that  thus  he  might 
be  lifted  above  them  dimmed  their  transparent  hearts. 
They  loved  their  father,  and  they  could  not  doubt 
him. 

A  few  months  later,  a  heavy  sorrow  fell  upon  this 
loving  group.  The  third  son,  William,  who,  at  Peter's 
solicitation,  had  been  hired,  as  waiter,  to  Captain  Bell, 


230          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   KANSOMED. 

in  Tuscumbia,  was  found  drowned  in  the  Spring  Creek, 
just  below  the  town. 

It  was  a  warm  morning  in  July,  and  he  had  obtained 
permission  to  go  out  fishing.  Several  boys  were  near 
him  bathing,  but  after  a  while  they  all  left  him,  and 
went  some  distance  down  the  creek.  Here  they  con- 
tinued their  play  till  about  dinner  tune,  when,  as  they 
came  up,  one  of  them  noticed  a  boy's  clothes  on  the 
bank.  "  They're  "William's  clothes,"  said  two  or  three 
at  once.  "Where  is  he?"  Alas,  they  could  obtain 
no  answer  to  their  question,  and  they  ran  up  to  town 
and  gave  the  alarm.  A  crowd  of  men  and  boys  has- 
tened to  the  creek;  and  after  diving  for  some  time, 
they  found  him  at  the  bottom. 

That  night  the  sorrowing  father  conveyed  the  life- 
less body  of  his  son  to  the  cabin  of  his  wife,  whence  he 
was  buried  beside  the  little  ones  that  in  their  infancy 
had  sunk  to  happy  slumbers. 

Poor  Yina's  heart  was  almost  crushed  by  this  af- 
fliction. William  was  her  darling;  indeed  he  was  a 
favorite  with  all  who  knew  him.  "  Oh !"  sobbed  his 
mother,  "  I  could  a  seen  him  die  if  I'd  thought  it  was 
the  Lord's  will ;  but  to  think  o'  his  strugglin'  and  goin' 
down  thar  all  alone,  'pears  like,  it's  more'n  I  can  b'ar." 

In  September  of  this  year,  Joseph  Friedman  returned 
from  Texas ;  and  soon  after,  Peter  paid  to  him  one 
hundred  dollars,  which  he  had  earned  since  January. 
The  Jew  seemed  delighted  at  the  success  of  his  humble 
friend,  and  congratulated  him  on  the  prospect  of  soon 
becoming  free.  Only  one  hundred  dollars  was  now 
lacking,  and  that,  if  he  were  prospered,  he  soon  could 
earn ;  and  then  he  should  be  free. 


PETER  BUYS  HIMSELF.  231 

Patiently  he  toiled  on.  His  brow  was  all  unruffled, 
and  no  trace  of  care  was  visible  on  his  cheerful  face. 
He  moved  so  quietly  in  his  accustomed  course,  that 
men  forgot  their  jealousy  of  the  Jew,  and  little  maidens 
ceased  to  pity  "  poor  Uncle  Peter." 

Late  in  the  evening  of  the  sixteenth  of  April,  1850, 
Peter  sought,  once  more,  the  counting-room  of  Mr. 
Friedman.  His  hand  might  well  tremble  as  he  raised 
the  latch ;  for  his  all  was  now  at  stake,  and  he  was 
helpless.  He  entered.  There  sat  the  little  Jew,  look- 
ing at  him  with  his  keen  black  eyes.  Timidly  he  drew 
forth  his  leather  bag,  and  commenced  counting  out  the 
money. 

A  footstep  approached.  Mr.  Friedman  quietly  laid 

a  pile  of  papers  over  the  coin,  and  Mr.  S >  the 

auctioneer,  walked  in. 

"  What,  Peter,"  said  he,  "  are  you  paying  up  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     Mass'r  Joe  make  me  pay  him  up  close  " 

"  How  much  do  you  have  to  pay  ?" 

"  "Well,  sir,  he  makes  me  pay  him  half  a  dollar  a 
day." 

"  That's  pretty  tight,  but  it's  the  best  way,  after  all." 

"  Yes — that  is  so — I  like  to  keep  all  close.  Peter 
must  pay  me  promptly." 

When  the  neighbor's  chat  was  ended,  and  they 
heard  his  receding  footsteps  on  the  sidewalk,  they 
finished  counting  the  money.  How  beautiful  it  looked 
to  Peter !  that  little  heap  of  coin,  as  he  shoved  it  to- 
wards the  Jew,  and  felt  that  now  his  fate  hung  entirely 
on  the  will  of  the  little  man  before  him. 

Mr.  Friedman  took  up  his  pen,  and  wrote  a  receipt 
in  full,  together  with  a  Certificate  of  Freedom,  as  fol- 
lows: 


232          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

•  Received,  Tuscumbia,  January  26th,  1849, 
of  my  boy  Peter,  three  hundred  dollars     .       $300  00 

Jos.  FRIEDMAN. 


Reed.  Sept.  1st,  1849,  of  my  boy  Peter,  $88  00 
Eighty-eight  dollars  and  twelve  dollars  12  00  100  00 

Reed.  March  29th,  1850,  of  Peter,  sixty  dollars,  60  00 


Jos.  FEIEDMAN,    $460  00 
Received,  April  16th,  1850,  forty  dollars,        40  00 


$500  00 

For,  and  in  consideration  of  the  above  five  hundred 
dollars,  I  have  this  16th  day  of  April,  1850,  given 
Peter  a  Bill  of  Sale,  and  given  him  his  freedom. 

JOSEPH  FRIEDMAN. 
Tuscumbia,  Ala.,  April  16th,  1850. 

Precious  was  this  paper  in  the  eyes  of  the  self-ran- 
somed slave,  and  yet  he  felt  not  all  secure.  The  habit 
of  doubting  that  truthfulness  of  which  he  had  so  seldom 
seen  an  illustration,  could  not  at  once  be  overcome. 

He  had  five  dollars  left,  with  which  he  bought  a 
trunk  of  Mr.  Friedman ;  and  then  in  one  old  silver 
dollar,  which  he  had  kept  for  many  years,  consisted 
all  his  store. 

/     Mr.  Friedman  had  charged  him  no  interest  on  the 
;  two  hundred  dollars  which  he  had  advanced  to  pur- 
chase him  of  Mr.  Hogan,  and  during  the  last  year  he 
had  bestowed  upon  him  many  little  presents.    Jew 


PETER  BUYS  HIMSELF.  233 

tliougli  he  was,  and  sometimes  quoted  as  a  miser,  y€ 
he  knew  the  happiness  of  being  a  blessing  to  the  poor. 

Immediately  after  receiving  this  last  payment  from 
his  servant,  Joseph  Friedman  started  for  California, 
leaving  Peter  in  the  care  of  his  brother  Isaac.  The 
whole  transaction  was  still  a  secret,  no  mortal  save  the 
two  brothers,  and  Peter's  own  family  were  aware  that 
he  had  even  wished  for  liberty. 

He  was  one  day  engaged  in  cleaning  the  churcj 
when  two  or  three  ladies  came  in  to  superintend  his 
labors.  Among  them  was  Mrs.  D.  one  of  the  most 
excellent  ladies  in  town.  "Peter,"  said  she,  when  she 
had  finished  giving  him  some  direction,  "you  ought 
to  be  free.  You  have  been  a  faithful  servant  for  a 
great  many  years ;  and  now  that  you  are  getting  old, 
you  deserve  to  have  your  freedom,  instead  of  being 
sold  to  those  Jews." 

" Oh!"  replied  he,  "what  use  would  it  be  for  me  to 
be  free?" 

"Why  then  you  could  do  as  you  chose,  and  go 
wherever  you  liked." 

"What!  now  I've  got  to  be  an  old  man,  a'most 
fifty  ?  I've  got  no  house  nor  garden ;  and  if  I  was  free, 
I'd  have  to  hire  a  house,  and  buy  my  own  clothes;  and 
then  if  I  should  be  sick,  there'd  be  nobody  to  take  care 
of  me.  No,  ma'am  'taint  no  use  for  me  to  think  of 
bein'  free.  I'm  too  old  to  be  turned  off  to  take  care 
of  myself." 

Thus  carefully  did  he  conceal  his  real  feelings,  lest 
he  should  place  in  greater  peril  that  freedom  which  he 
had  so  dearly  won. 

At  the  ap]5f oach  of  summer,  Mr.  Isaac  Friedman 
decided  to  sell  out  his  stock  of  goods  in  Tuscumbia,  in 


234         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE  RANSOMED. 

)rder  to  remove  to  Cincinnati,  where  iiis  brother  Lovi 
then  resided. 

Peter  no  sooner  learned  this  plan,  than  he  requested 
"leave  to  accompany  him  as  far  as  Louisville.  In  all 
his  intercourse  with  the  Jew,  he  had  never  revealed  to 
him  his  early  history,  or  breathed  to  him  his  own  great 
wish — that  of  seeking  his  parents,  and  his  childhood's 
home.  But  he  had  often  talked  of  Lexington,  and  now 
he  said  he  should  like  once  more  to  visit  "the  old 
place." 

Mr.  Friedman  readily  assented,  and  Peter  com- 
menced his  preparations  for  the  journey.  His  earnings 
since  he  had  finished  paying  for  himself,  together  with 
his  receipts  from  the  sale  of  a  few  articles  which  he  no 
longer  needed,  amounted  to  eighty  dollars.  That  he 
thought,  would  be  sufficient  to  meet  his  expenses  on 
the  way. 

The  Tuscumbians  again  became  excited.  Some  gos- 
siping oracle  "reckoned"  that  Joseph  Friedman  had 
failed,  and  straightway  that  important  reckoning  was 
announced  to  be  a  fact.  Joseph  had  failed,  and  Isaac 
was  about  to  sell  off  his  goods  at  auction,  and  quit  the 
country.  Uncle  Peter,  too  was  to  be  dragged  off  and  sold, 
or,  as  some  said,  to  be  hired  out  upon  a  steamboat,  and 
thus  exposed  to  all  the  frightful  sickness  that  then  raged 
upon  the  Western  rivers.  "  Now  Uncle  Peter,"  said  one, 
"if  you  find  out  that  those  Jews  are  about  to  sell  you, 
just  let  me  know,  and  I  will  buy  you." 

"  It  will  be  too  bad  for  them  to  speculate  out  of  you," 
said  another,  "but  I  expect  that  is  what  they  bought 
you  for." 

To  all  these  kind  expressions  of  interest  in  his  wel- 
fare, Peter  had  but  one  reply.  "  Mass'r  Joe  and  Mass'r 


PETER  BUYS  HIMSELF.  235 

Isaac  always  has  been  good  to  me ;  and  any  how,  I 
belong  to  them,  and  they  can  do  what  they  like." 

"  "What  a  contented  old  fellow  he  is  I"  said  one  who 
listened  to  this  quiet  answer.  "  I'd  like  that  some  of 
the  abolitionists  should  hear  him  talk,  they  would  be 
obliged  to  own  that  niggers1  pining  to  be  free  is  moon- 
shine." 

The  Saturday  before  Mr.  Friedman  intended  to  leave 
town.  Peter  went  out  to  pay  a  farewell  visit  to  his 
family.  To  them  he  unburdened  all  his  heart.  His 
great  hope  had  been,  if  he  could  once  be  free,  to  find 
his  own  relations,  whom  he  always  thought  of  as  living 
in  or  near  Philadelphia.  Then,  if  they  were  able,  per- 
haps they  might  assist  him  in  the  purchase  of  his  wife 
and  children,  and  so,  at  last,  they  could  all  dwell  to- 
gether. 

This  hope  had  so  inspired  the  little  family  at  Bain- 
bridge,  that  their  grief  at  parting  with  their  beloved 
father  was  lost  in  the  bright  vision  of  a  speedy  re- 
union in  the  dwelling  of  the  free.  They  knew  nothing 
of  the  difficulties  to  be  encountered ;  or  of  the  time  re- 
quisite to  perfect  such  a  work,  even  if  their  father  were 
successful  in  his  search.  He  had  bought  his  freedom ; 
and  in  their  eyes,  such  an  achievement  proved  him 
equal  to  the  attainment  of  any  end.  Not  thus  sanguine 
was  their  father ;  but  he  was  strong  in  his  fixed  resolve 
to  work  while  he  had  breath  for  the  redemption  of  his 
loved  ones. 

In  sweet,  though  somewhat  mournful,  conversation 
passed  the  hours  of  this  precious  visit.  They  were  all 
too  short  for  the  utterance  of  the  many  last  fond  words ; 
and  on  Monday  morning,  when  the  father  was  obliged 


236        THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

to  leave  them  they  had  not  found  time  for  half  they 
wished  to  say. 

The  loud  horn  called  them  to  their  labors,  and  the 
children  said  "  Good-bye,"  and  hastened  out — but  Vina 
lingered.  Oh !  it  was  hard  to  see  him  go  away  alone 
— but  still  she  would  not  bid  him  stay.  She  mounted 
her  mule,  and  rode  toward  the  field,  while  Peter 
walked  for  a  short  distance  by  her  side. 

His  heart  was  very  heavy,  but  he  uttered  not  his 
gloomy  thoughts.  He  would  fain  leave  her  cheerful  ; 
for  he  knew  that  ere  his  return,  her  heart  would  often- 
times be  shadowed.  So  he  spoke  hopefully  of  the 
future,  and  bade  her  never  fear  for  him.  "  I  will 
come  back,"  said  he,  "  whether  I  find  my  people  or 
not — I  will  come  back,  and  let  you  know.  Now  take 
care  of  yourself  and  the  children ;  and  mind  they  don't 
tell  the  secret." 

Too  soon  their  paths  diverged.  When  they  came 
opposite  the  half-plowed  field  they  stopped.  "  "Well 
Peter,"  said  the  brave-hearted  wife,  "this  yer's  your 
road,  and  yorfs  mine.  Good-bye."  One  pressure  of 
the  hand — one  last  earnest  look — and  they  each  pur- 
sued a  separate  road;  the  one  to  slavery's  dreary 
labors,  the  other  toward  that  Paradise  of  hope — The 
North. 


r"-V-S^  V^=> 
'Well  Pvler,  tins  ycr's  your  road,  and  yon'a  mine.  See  yageJ236. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

JOURNKY    TO    PHILADELPHIA. 

ON  the  twentieth  of  July,  all  preliminaries  being 
arranged,  Mr.  Friedman  and  his  servant  took  the  boat 
for  Louisville. 

"  Now,  Peter,"  said  Dr.  W ,  as  he  shook  hands 

with  him  upon  the  sidewalk,  "  mind  what  I  tell  you ; 
if  those  Jews  go  to  sell  you,  just  telegraph  to  me\" 

"Thank  you,  sir,  I  will;  but  I  reckon  they  ain't 
gwine  to  sell  me,  any  how." 

Several  other  gentlemen,  as  he  passed  along,  gave 
him  similar  assurances ;  and  with  the  kindest  wishes 
of  all  the  citizens,  he  left  the  town. 

"  That  is  outrageous,"  said  a  kind  hearted  gentle- 
man, who  watched  the  faithful  servant  as  he  passed 
out  of  sight — "  for  that  Jew  to  carry  off  such  a  fellow 
as  old  Peter,  and  to  have  a  right  to  sell  him  whenever 
he  likes." 

Peter  paid  his  fare  to  Louisville  by  working  on  the 
boat — The  Greek  Slave — Captain  Francis.  When 
they  reached  that  city,  the  cholera  was  raging  fear- ' 
fully ;  and  Mr.  Friedman  thought  best  to  make  no 
stop,  but  to  hasten  on  to  Cincinnati.  Thither  also, 
Peter  obtained  permission  to  accompany  him ;  and  at 
six  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-sixth  of 
July,  the  free  soil  of  Ohio  was  pressed  by  his  weary 
feet. 

[237] 


238         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

]STow,  for  a  time,  he  threw  off  his  pretended  bonds, 
and  gave  way  to  his  emotions  of  delight.  Springing 
from  the  boat,  he  clapped  his  hands  in  ecstasy,  shout- 
ing, "  I'm  free !  I'm  free  !  This  is  free  ground !  The 
water  runs  free !  The  wind  blows  free !  I  am  a  slave 
no  more!" 

"Hush!  Peter,"  said  Mr.  Friedman,  "people  will 
think  you  are  a  fool !" 

That  day,  in  the  house  of  his  brother,  Levi  Fried- 
man, Peter  revealed  to  his  late  master  the  story  of  his 
life.  He  told  him  all  that  he  remembered  of  his  early 
childhood — of  his  being  stolen,  of  his  brother's  life 
and  death,  and  of  the  one  hope  which  had  animated 
all  his  labors — that  of  returning  to  the  spot  where  he 
was  born,  to  find,  if  possible,  his  kindred,  and  to  see 
his  mother's  grave. 

Friedman  listened  with  astonishment;  and  when 
Peter  described,  as  well  as  he  was  able,  his  early  home, 
which  he  located  at  Philadelphia,  the  Jew  could  not 
believe  the  tale.  "  No,  no,"  cried  he,  "you  came  from 
Kentucky — your  master  told  me  so." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Peter,  "so  I  did  come  from  Kain- 
tucky  ;  but  I  was  stole  and  carried  there  when  I  was  a 
little  boy.  I  remember  the  Delaware  river — it  was  not 
far  from  my  mother's  house ;  and  that  river  is  at  Phila- 
delphia— leastways,  so  people  has  told  me.  And  now 
•  I  want  to  go  and  see  if  I  can  find  my  relations." 

The  wonder  of  his  auditor  was  intense.  He  could 
not  comprehend  how,  during  all  these  years,  so  cruel 
a  wrong  had  been  suffered  to  go  unredressed. 

"I  do  not  like  to  have  you  go  away  alone,"  said  he 
to- Peter.  "  The  cholera  is  raging  on  the  river,  and 
you  might  be  sick  and  die  among  strangers." 


JOURNEY  TO  PHILADELPHIA.  239 

But  his  fears  could  not  detain  the  enthusiastic  free- 
man. "  Never  mind,"  said  he,  "  if  I  die,  nobody  don't 
lose  nuthin  by  me.  I'm  my  own  man,  any  how,  but  I 
reckon  I  won't  die.  'Pears  like,  now  I've  got  so  fur, 
my  work  ain't  gwine  to  be  lost." 

After  spending  a  day  and  a  half  at  a  colored  board- 
ing house  in  Cincinnati,  where  he  had  his  clothes  all 
put  in  order,  he  started  for  Pittsburg.  A  cousin  of 
Mr.  Friedman  accompanied  him  to  the  wharf  and  saw 
him  on  board  the  boat. 

How  anxious  was  his  heart  as  the  steamer  dashed 
away.  He  was  all  alone,  and  utterly  ignorant  of  the 
perils  he  might  meet.  But  he  trusted  in  the  Lord,  and 
kept  a  cheerful  countenance. 

His  characteristic  caution  prompted  him  to  observe 
closely  the  movements  of  his  fellow-passengers,  and 
one  of  them  soon  absorbed  his  attention.  This  was  a 
short  dark  man,  with  a  disagreeable  expression  of 
countenance.  Peter  remembered  seeing  the  same  man 
on  the  boat  from  Louisville  to  Cincinnati,  where  he 
had  made  several  attempts  to  draw  him  into  conversa- 
tion, without,  however,  learning  anything  further  in 
answer  to  his  questions  than  that  Peter  was  going  to 
Cincinnati.  Now  he  renewed  his  advances,  striving  to 
draw  him  into  conversation,  and  at  last  asked  him  if 
his  owner  were  on  board. 

"I  don't  need  any,"  said  Peter,  as  he  walked 
away. 

Soon  an  elderly  gentleman,  very  genteelly  dressed, 
approached  him,  and  asked  if  his  master  were  on 
board. 

"I  have  no  master,"  replied  he,  "who  said  I  had  a 
master  ?" 


240          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

"But  you  are  a  slave,"  persisted  the  gentleman, 
"  or  at  least  have  been  one.  I  knew  it  as  soon  as  I 
saw  you.  Where  are  you  going  ?" 

"  I  am  gwine  to  Pittsburg,  and  then  to  Philadelphia; 
and  I  am  a  free  man.  Who  said  I  had  a  master  ?" 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  From  Cincinnati." 

His  interrogator  left  him  in  no  pleasant  mood.  Two 
colored  barbers  on  the  boat  had  told  him  that  the  short 
dark  man  was  watching  all  his  movements.  He  was 
whispering,  too,  they  said,  among  the  other  passengers, 
that  he  knew  that  fellow  was  a  runaway;  and  he 
would  take  him  up,  if  he  had  not  other  business  to 
attend  to.  He  was  hunting,  he  said,  for  a  rascal  who 
had  escaped  from  prison  ;  and  he  could  not  undertake 
another  job." 

When  the  boat  approached  Wheeling,  several  indi- 
viduals came  to  Peter,  and  offered  their  advice.  The 
short  dark  man  kept,  his  eye  upon  him,  but  said 
nothing.  One  young  gentleman  with  a  pleasant 
countenance  stooped  down  and  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"  Now,  my  friend,  there  are  a  great  many  watching 
you  ;  and  if  you  are  free,  stand  to  it.  Don't  leave  the 
boat ; — -just  say  that  you  are  free."  Seeing  some  one 
approaching,  the  young  man  rose  up,  and  walked  to 
another  part  of  the  boat.  "  I  thought,"  said  Peter,  as 
he  narrated  this  incident,  "  that  the  Lord  sent  that 
young  man,  and  that  he  was  a  true  friend  ;  so  I  deter- 
mined to  take  his  advice." 

Soon  came  another..  "  See  here,  my  friend,"  said 
he,  "  the  people  tell  me  that  you  are  running  away. 
Now,  I  am  a  friend  to  colored  people.  Here  is  five 
dollars — you'd  better  not  stop  in  Wheeling,  for  they 


JOURNEY  TO   PHILADELPHIA.  241 

talk  of  taking  you  up.  You  take  this  five  dollars, 
and  walk  across  the  bridge — and  you'll  be  in  a  Free 
State,  where  they  can't  hurt  you." 

"  No,  sir,  I  thank  you,"  said  Peter,  "  I  have  paid 
my  passage  to  Pittsburg,  and  I  shall  not  leave  the 
boat.  Let  'em  take  me  up  if  they  like ;  I  can  tele- 
graph to  my  friends  in  Cincinnati,  and  I  reckon  they 
can  make  'em  pay  for  the  time  I'm  hindered.  Yes  ; 
let  'em  take  me  up,  if  they  think  best." 

Notwithstanding  the  bravery  of  his  bearing,  he  felt 
extremely  uneasy ;  and  as  Mr.  Friedman  had  given 
him  no  instruction  respecting  the  proper  method  of 
procedure  in  such  cases,  he  was  forced  to  rely  alone 
upon  his  own  judgment.  He  readily  suspected  the 
hypocrisy  of  the  very  kind  friend  who  offered  him  five 
dollars,  and  advised  him  to  hasten  across  the  bridge. 
Had  he  accepted  the  gift  and  counsel,  he  would  tacitly 
have  acknowledged  himself  a  runaway,  and  so  he 
might  have  become  an  easy  prey  to  the  vultures  that 
pursued  him. 

But  he  was  not  arrested.  He  saw  groups  of  men 
whispering  together  in  different  directions — and  he 
knew  they  watched  him  constantly  ;  but  he  seemed  to 
regard  them  with  such  cool  indifference,  that  they  did 
not  venture  to  attempt  the  execution  of  their  plots. 

The  boat  arrived  at  Pittsburg  early  in  the  morning ; 
and  Peter  was  conducted  by  a  colored  fellow-passenger 
to  the  house  of  a  friend  of  his,  where  they  took  break- 
fast. After  remaining  about  five  hours  in  the  city,  he 
took  the  stage  to  cross  the  mountains.  He  was 
anxious  to  reach  Philadelphia  as  soon  as  possible,  for 
he  was  told  in  Pittsburgh  that  there  would  be  a  great 
turn-out  of  the  colored  people  there  on  the  first  day  of 


242          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

August ;  and  that,  lie  thought,  would  be  a  favorable 
time  to  seek  his  kindred. 

He  paid  for  a  seat  inside  the  stage ;  but  it  being 
crowded  with  passengers,  he  was  requested  to  ride  out- 
side. He  accordingly  seated  himself  beside  the  driver, 
where  he  rode  all  day.  The  grand  scenery  of  the 
mountains  was  new  to  him,  and  wonderful.  Wife  and 
children  were  behind.  He  could  hear  their  voices, 
now  sad,  now  trustful,  as*  they  talked  of  "  father," 
while  their  mother  cooked  their  scanty  supper.  Sub- 
dued were  the  tones  of  their  dear  voices,  for  on  no 
strange  ear  must  fall  the  che^rished  secret  that  he  was 
free.  They  little  dreamed  that  he  was  riding  now 
over  these  wild  rough  mountains.  How  strange  the 
scene !  The  tall  hemlocks  which  sheltered  the  highest 
peaks,  seemed  stern  and  unloving — but  the  warm  sun 
looked  down  upon  themlall.  The  same  sun  even  then 
was  shining  upon  his  toiling  loved  ones ;  and  oh  !  per- 
haps it  also  shone  upon  the  gra%s  of  all  those  whom 
he  had  come  jo  far  to  seek. 

Such  were  his  thoughts  as,  hour  after  hour,  he  gazed 
upon  the  ever- varying  grandeur  of  the  Alleghanies. 

After  travelling  by  stage  about  twenty  four  hours, 
he  took  a  seat  in  a  rail-road  car.  This  was  another 
wonder.  His  previous  ideas  of  rail-roads  had  been 
gained  from  the  only  one  he  had  ever  seen — that  ex- 
tending the  length  of  the  Muscle  Shoals,  and  connect- 
ing Decatur  and  Tuscumbia.  On  that  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  see,  once  a  day,  two  or  three  little 
rickety  cars  come  jolting  into  town,  loaded  chiefly 
with  freight,  but  occasionally  bringing  also  a  few  tired 
passengers.  These  cars  were  drawn  by  two  or  three 
sleepy-looking  mules  or  horses ;  for  the  snakes-heads 


JOURNEY  TO   PHILADELPHIA.  243 

were  so  numerous  upon  the  road,  that  the  wheezing 
old  locomotive,  which  sometimes  came  down  with 
freight  alone,  rendered  the  journey  too  perilous  for 
passengers. 

What  a  contrast  to  all  this  was  now  before  him ! 
The  bright  locomotive,  the  long  trains  of  elegantly 
furnished  cars,  and  the  smooth,  level  track  of  Pensyl- 
Vania  road,  astonished  him;  while  the  frequent  vil- 
lages he  passed,  the  highly-cultivated  fields,  and  the 
substantial  farm-houses,  with  their  great  stone-base^, 
barns,  impressed  him  with  still  greater  wonder. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  first  day  of  August,  the 
train  reached  Philadelphia.  Peter  sprang  to  the 
ground;  and,  getting  possession  of  his  trunk,  he 
stepped  aside,  and  stood  an  amazed  spectator  of  the 
noisy  scene.  Porters  accosted  him  with — "  Where 
want  to  go,  sir?" 

"I  don't  want  to  go  no  farther  than  yer." 

The  crowd  began  to  scatter.  Friends  met  friends, 
and  departed  in  their  company ;  every  one  seemed  in 
haste ;  he  only  was  alone  and  purposeless.  Far  away 
on  every  side  stretched  the  great  city — the  goal  of  all 
his  hopes,  perhaps  their  grave. 

He  stood  still  by  his  trunk,  till  his  fellow-passengers 
had  all  dispersed.  He  knew  not  where  to  go.  He 
had  been  advised,  while  in  Pittsburg,  to  go  to  a  cer- 
tain boarding-house  in  Philadelphia;  but  the  name  he 
could  not  now  remember.  "  Suppose,"  said  he  to 
himselfj  "  some  Abolitionist  should  come  along  novr, 
mighty  friendly,  and  tell  me  where  to  go,  and  so  I 
should  be  entrapped  and  sold  again.  I  must  be  carefuL" 

After  he  had  stood  alone  for  more  than  half  an  hour, 
an  elderly  colored  man  came  up,  and  kindly  accosted 


244          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

him.  "Do  you  wish  to  go  to  some  part  of  the  city, 
friend?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Peter,  "  I  was  recommended,  in  Pitts- 
burg,  to  go  to  a  boardin'-house,  kept  by  a  Christian 
man,  a  preacher ;  and  I  would  like  to  find  it." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"  I  can't  think.  I've  been  a  studyin'  all  the  time 
since  I  stood  here,  and  I  can't  remember  it.  I  only 
heard  it  once  m  Pittsburg ;  but  he  is  a  Christian  man, 
and  a  minister." 

The  stranger  suggested  many  names,  and  at  last 
mentioned  "Dr.  Byas." 

"Thar — that's  the  man — I  knowed  I  should  re- 
member it,  if  I  heard  it  spoke." 

"  Well,"  said  the  stranger,  "  I  know  where  he  lives, 
and  I  will  carry  your  trunk  there  for  a  quarter." 

Peter  assented,  and  followed  him.  With  the  trunk 
upon  his  shoulder,  the  stranger  led  the  way  through 
the  handsomest  part  of  the  ,city ;  but  the  beautiful 
buildings  which  they  passed  scarcely  won  a  glance  of 
admiration  from  Peter.  His  dear  dead  brother's  fea- 

• 

tures  were  in  his  mind's  eye  ;  and,  in  the  face  of  every 
colored  man  he  met,  he  looked  to  find  their  counter- 
part. He  gazed  in  vain.  No  lineament  of  that  well- 
remembered  face  could  he  discover  among  the  passers- 
by,  and  he  was  glad  when  his  guide  stayed  his  steps 
before  the  modest  residence  of  the  good  Doctor. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


THE    KIDNAPPED     BOY   RESTORED    TO 
HIS    MOTHER. 


MES.  BYAS  herself  answered  the  bell.  She  was  a 
bright  mulatto  woman,  with  a  kind  smile  and  a  pleas- 
ant voice.  Dr.  Byas,  she  said,  was  not  at  home — he 
had  gone  to  Cincinnati.  Peter  explained  to  her  that 
he  was  sent  there  by  some  friends  in  Pittsburg. 

"  Oh,  well,  then,  come  right  in,"  said  she,  "  I  can 
take  care  of  you." 

He  entered  the  house,  and  sat  down,  while  the  good 
woman  proceeded  to  explain  to  him  the  cause  of  her 
husband's  absence.  To  this  he  hearkened  not.  "  Do 
you  know  how  fur  it  is  to  the  Delaware  river?" 
said  he. 

"  Why,  yes — it  is  right  down  here  at  the  wharf." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  That  is  just  the  river  I'm 
a  huntin'  for.  I  was  born  on  that  river  ;  and  I  want 
to  go  down  and  find  the  old  house  where  my  father 
and  mother  lived — right  on  the  side  of  the  hill." 

"  Oh,  stay  till  I  get  you  some  dinner,"  said  Mrs. 
Byas,  "and  then  I  will  show  you  the  way  to  the 
river." 

"  No,  no — I  must  go  now — I  believe  I  can  find  the 
house." 

[846] 

•~-  *  j* 


24Q         THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

But  she  prevailed  on  him  to  sit  down  and  eat  a 
Junch ;  and  then,  according  to  her  promise,  she  directed 
him  to  the  river;  giving  him  at  the  same -time  her 
street  and  number,  so  that  he  might  find  his  way 
back. 

When  he  reached  the  river  he  walked  a  long  way 
up  the  stream  looking  for  the  well-remembered  woods 
upon  the  hill-side.  But  the  city  stretched  a  long  way 
up  the  river,  and  as  far  as  he  could  see,  the  bank  was 
dotted  with  the  costly  dwellings  of  the  rich ; — no  hum- 
ble cottage  like  the  one  in  his  memory,  met  his  eye ; 
and  when  thoroughly  wearied  in  the  fruitless  search, 
he  returned  disappointed  to  the  residence  of  his  kind 
landlady. 

She  was  much  interested  in  the  stranger,  and  to  aid 
him  in  his  efforts,  she  sent  a  man  with  him  into  the 
streets,  directing  him  to .  inquire  of  any  aged  colored 
people  he  might  meet  for  a  man  named  Levin,  and  his 
wife,  Sidney,  who  lost  two  children  about  forty  years 
before. 

This  search  was  unsuccessful ;  and  at  night  Peter 
turned,  with  weary  feet,  towards  his  boarding-house. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  arose,  and  with  new 
strength  and  energy,  re-commenced  his  search.  He 
found  one  old  man  who  had  lived  in  Philadelphia 
fifty-three  years.  He  told  him  that  he  knew  of  sixty 
colored  children  that  were  missing  from  that  vicinity 
in  one  year;  and  in  another  year  forty  were  carried 
off,  of  whom  no  trace  was  ever  found.  Yet  he  had 
never  known  the  Levin  and  Sidney  whom  Peter 
sought. 

Hour  after  hour  he  continued  these  fruitless  in- 
quiries; and  at  last  he  was  forced  to  abandon  this 


PETER   RESTORED   TO   HIS   MOTHER.  247 

method  of  search,  and  to  return  to  Mrs.  Byas  for  fur- 
ther counsel. 

Towards  evening  the  good  woman  devised  another 
plan.  She  told  Peter  that  at  the  Anti-Slavery  Office 
were  kept  old  records  of  colored  Churches ;  and  that, 
as  he  was  sure  his  parents  were  religious  people,  it 
was  quite  possible  that  their  names  might  there  be 
found.  She  thought  it  best  for  him  to  go  there  imme- 
diately, and  ask  them  to  search  these  records. 

He  did  not  hesitate  to  follow  her  advice ;  and,  with 
the  same  guide  who  had  previously  accompanied  him, 
at  about  six  o'clock,  he  started  for  the  Office. 

The  guide  who  had  been  sent  by  Mrs.  Byas  had  no. 
confidence  in  Peter.  His  story  seemed  to  him  impro- 
ble ;  and  he  suspected  him  of  being  a  spy  sent  out  to 
hunt  for  fugitives.  This  distrust  soon  became  mutual. 
Peter  dreaded  the  Abolitionists  of  the  North,  of  whose 
decoying  people  away  and  selling  them  at  the  far  South 
he  had  so  often  heard;  and  as  he  noticed  that  the 
guide  spoke  frequently  in  a  low  voice  to  those  he  met, 
he  feared  some  net  was  spreading  for  his  feet. 

At  last  they  reached  North  Fifth  street,  and  as  they 
passed  a  window  of  the  Anti-Slavery  Office,  they  saw 
a  young  colored  man  within,  writing  at  a  desk. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  black  man  doing  that  at  the 
South?"  asked  the  guide. 

"No,  indeed,"  replied  Peter,  "if  a  black  man  thar 
knowed  how  to  write,  he'd  best  keep  it  a  secret." 

They  entered  the  office.  The  young  clerk  whom 
they  had  noticed  through  the  window  was  there  alone. 
He  was  graceful  in  his  bearing,  and  dressed  with 
extreme  neatness. 

"  Good  evening,  sir ;"  said  the  guide.     "  Here  is  a 


218         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

man  from  the  South,  that  says  he  is  hunting  for  his 
people ;  and  he  wants  to  make  me  believe  he  was  born 
in  Philadelphia.  Mrs.  Byas  sent  me  here  with  him — 
she  thought  possibly  you  might  find  the  names  of  his 
.  parents  on  some  of  your  books." 

"  What  were  you  parents'  names?"  asked  the  young 
man  of  Peter. 

"  I  was  stolen  away  from  the  Delaware  river,"  said 
he,  "with  my  brother  Levin,  when  I  was  about  six 
years  old.  My  father's  name  was  Levin,  and  my 
mother's  name  was  Sidney ;  and  we  had  two  sisters- 
one  name  'Merica  and  the  other  Charity ;  though  my 
brother  always  said  that  'Merica  was  our  cousin.  One 
day  when  our  mother  was  gone,  as  we  thought,  to 
church,  a  man  came  along  in  a  gig,  and  asked  us  if 
we  didn't  want  to  ride.  He  told  us  he  would  carry 
us  to  our  mother ;  so  we  got  up  with  him.  But  in 
place  o'  carry  in'  us  to  our  mother,  he  taken  us  off  into 
Kaintucky,  and  sold  us.  We  used  to  talk  a  heap 
about  our  mother,  but  nineteen  years  ago  my  brother 
died  in  Alabama ;  and  now  I've  bought  my  liberty, 
and  come  back  to  hunt  for  my  relations." 

The  young  clerk  listened  with  much  apparent  inte- 
rest, and  when  Peter  had  ended  his  simple  story,  he 
requested  him  to  wait  till  he  had  finished  putting  up 
those  papers  for  the  Post  Office,  when  he  would  render 
him  any  assistance  in  his  power. 

Peter  constantly  grew  more  uneasy.  He  could 
not  shake  off  the  idea  that  some  snare  was  here  laid 
to  entrap  him,  and  while  the  young  man  was  busied 
at  his  desk,  he  slipped  along  a  little  nearer  to  the  door, 
in  order  that  he  might  escape  if  any  violence  should 
be  attempted. 


PETER   RESTORED   TO   HIS   MOTHER.  249 

"When  the  papers  were  all  prepared  for  the  mail,  the 
clerk  sat  down  near  him,  and  entered  into  conversa- 
tion. "It  will  take  sometime,"  said  he,  "to  look  over 
those  old  papers,  and  this  man  may  as  well  go  home. 
I  will  show  you  the  way  back  to  Mrs.  Byas'." 

The  guide  rose  to  depart, — and  Peter  prepared  to 
accompany  him.  "I'll  go,  too,"  said  he. 

"No,  nor — stay;"  said  the  clerk,  "I  will  do  my 
best  to  find  your  friends." 

"Yes,  stay — by  all  means;"  added  the  guide, — if  he 
will  look  for  them,  it  isn't  worth  while  to  go  away 
now." 

Peter  was  greatly  frightened.  He  thought  he 
could  detect  a  mutual  understanding  between  the  two, 
to  keep  him  there  till  night,  that  they  might  commit 
some  outrage  upon  his  person ;  but  he  knew  no  way 
of  escape,  for  he  was  a  stranger.  Trembling,  there- 
fore, he  consented  to  remain ;  but  seated  himself  as 
near  as  possible  to  the  door,  and  watched  intently 
every  motion  of  the  young  man  whose  treachery  he 
so  much  feared. 

When  they  two  were  left  alone,  the  clerk  questioned 
him  further  respecting  his  early  memories  of  home  and 
mother;  and  then,  looking  him  in  the  face,  he  said, 
"  SupposW'I  should  tell  you  that  I  am  your  brother  ?" 

Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  at  his  feet,  he  could  not 
have  been  more  astonished.  But  the  doubt  was  up- 
permost in  his  mind,  and  with  an  incredulous  look  he 
answered,  only,  "Supposin'  you  should?" 

"Well,"  continued  the  young  man,  "from  all  you 
have  told  me,  I  believe  that  you  are'  a  brother  of  mine. 
My  father's  name  was  Levin,  and  my  mother's  name 
is  Sidney ;  and  they  lost  two  boys  named  Levin  and 


250         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

Peter,  about  the  time  you  speak  of.  I  have  often 
heard  my  mother  mourn  about  those  two  children, 
and  I  am  sure  you  must  be  one  of  them." 

The  young  man's  voice  trembled  as  he  spoke ;  and 
Peter,  more  frightened  than  ever,  knew  not  what  to 
say.  He  did  not  believe  one  word  the  clerk  had  said ; 
for  had  he  not  merely  repeated  his  own  story !  At 
last  he  spoke :  "I  want  to  ask  you  one  question — is 
your  father"  and  mother  a  livin'  ?" 

"  My  father  has  been  dead  some  years,"  replied  the 
clerk,  "  but  my  mother  is  still  living." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Peter,  "then  your  mother  is  not 
my  mother ;  for  my  mother  must  be  dead.  My  brother 
said,  before  he  died,  that  he  was  sure  she  was  dead ; 
and  that  is  nineteen  years  ago.  Yes,  my  mother  must 
be  dead.  I  don't  expect  to  find  her  alive,  but  I  thought 
I  mought  find  her  grave." 

In  vain  the  young  man  strove  to  convince  him  that 
they  might  both  be  sons  of  the  same  mother.  In  vain 
he  related  little  incidents  connected  with  their  loss, 
which  he  had  heard  from  his  mother's  lips.  Peter  still 
believed  that  he  was  merely  constructing  a  tale  to 
match  his  own.  "Oh!"  thought  he,  "what  a  fool  I 
was  to  tell  him,  any  how  !" 

"  Where  does  your  mother  live  ?"  asked  he,  after 
some  minutes  spent  in  painful  thought. 

"  She  lives  in  New  Jersey,  but  I  have  two  sisters 
living  in  this  city. 

"New  Jersey!"  Where  could  that  be ?  It  must  be 
a  great  way  off,  for  he  had  never  heard  of  it.  Perhaps 
it  was  across  the*sea.  "New  Jersey,"  said  he  aloud, 
"  how  far  is  that  from  yer?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  just  across  the  river.     My  mother  lives 


PETER  EESTOKED  TO   HIS   MOTHEE.  251 

fifteen  or  twenty  miles  from  the  city.  Come,  go  with 
me  to  my  sister's  ;  one  of  them  lives  quite  near.  She 
is  several  years  older  than  I,  and  can  tell  you  much 
more  about  our  family." 

"No,  sir;  if  you  please,  show  me  the  way  to  my 
boardin' -house.  It  is  night,  and  I'd  ruther  go  thar." 

But  the  young  man  urged  him  so  strongly,  that  he 
at  last  consented  to  accompany  him  to  see  his  sister 
Mary,  an  unmarried  woman,  who  taught  a  little  school, 
and  kept  a  few  boarders. 

She  was  engaged,  when  they  entered,  in  removing 
the  tea-things;  and,  as  she  supposed  Peter  was  some 
stranger  who  was  going  home  with  her  brother,  she 
took  no  special  notice  of  him.  Soon  she  started  to  go 
into  the  basement,  and  the  young  man  followed  her. 
Peter  heard  them  talking,  in  a  low  tone,  upon  the 
stairs,  and  all  his  worst  fears  returned.  He  had  heard 
of  houses  kept  by  infamous  women  in  cities ;  and  of 
strangers  being  beguiled  into  them  to  be  robbed  and 
murdered.  He  had  heard,  too,  of  kidnappers,  that  em- 
ployed colored  agents  to  ensnare  their  victims ;  and  the 
perspiration  started  from  every  pore,  as  he  fancied 
himself  thus  entangled.  He  could  not  flee,  for  he 
knew  not  where  to  go ;  and  if  he  made  inquiries  for 
his  boarding-house,  he  might  fall  into  other  dangers. 

After  a  few  minutes,  which  seemed  an  age  to  Peter, 
the  brother  and  sister  returned  into  the  room,  and  sat 
down.  "Sister,"  said  the  clerk,  "here  is  a  man  who 
tells  a  strange  story.  He  has  come  to  Philadelphia  to 
look  for  his  relations,  and  I  should  like  to  have  you 
hear  what  he  has  to  say." 

She  turned  to  Peter,  "  For  whom  are  you  looking?" 
said  she. 


252          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EANSOMED. 

"  Oh,"  he  replied,  J'm  a  looJcin1  for  a  needle  in  a  hay- 
slack  :  and  I  reckon  the  needle's  rusty,  and  the  stack  is 
rotted  down,  so  ifs  no  use  to  say  any  more  about  it."11 

"But  tell  her,"  said  the  young  man,  "what  you  re- 
lated to  me  in  the  office." 

He  proceeded  to  repeat  his  story ;  but  when  he  spoke 
the  names  of  his  father  and  mother,  his  listener  could  sit 
still  no  longer.  Seizing  the  candle,  and  holding  it 
near  his  face,  she  cried,  "O  Lord!  it  is  one  of  our  lost 
brothers!  I  should  know  him  by  his  likeness  to 
our  mother.  Thank  God!  one  of  our  brothers  has 
come!"  Then  checking  herself,  she  turned  to  the 
young  brother,  "O  William,  this  will  kill  mother!" 

Peter  was  still  more  agitated,  yet  not  convinced. 
He  was  so  unprepared  for  such  a  joyful  greeting,  that 
he  could  not  believe  they  were  sincere.  He  promised, 
however,  to  come  again  in  the  morning,  and  to  go  with 
her  to  see  an  older  sister,  who  resided  in  another  part 
of  the  city. 

After  spending  a  few  minutes  in  further  conversation 
respecting  their  family,  the  clerk,  according  to  his 
promise,  accompanied  Peter  to  his  boarding-house. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Byas,"  said  he,  as  he  entered 
the  neat  parlor  ;  "did  you  send  this  man  to  the  Anti- 
Slavery  Office  this  evening  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  thought  he  might  find  some  account 
there  of  his  people." 

"  Well,  he  is  my  own  brother." 

The  good  woman  looked  amazed. 

"  My  parents,"  continued  the  young  man,  "  lost  two 
children  over  forty  years  ago ;  and  from  this  man's 
story  I  am  convinced  that  he  is  one  of  those  brothers. 
And  now  I  haye  brought  him  back  here,  as  I  promised 


PETEK   RESTORED   TO   HIS  MOTHER.  253 

at  the  office  ;  but  I  want  him  to  go  home  with  me  and 
stay  all  night.  In  the  morning  I  will  take  him  to  see 
other  members  of  our  family. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Peter,  who  could  not  yet  fully  trust 
his  new-found  brother,  "  I'd  as  lief  stay  here  to-night ; 
and  then  I  can  go  with  you  in  the  morning." 

Mrs.  By  as,  however,  joined  in  urging  him  to  go 
home  with  Mr.  Still;  assuring  him  that  he  did  resem- 
ble him  in  looks,  and  that  she  doubted  not  they  were 
really  brothers.  At  last,  after  much  persuasion,  he 
reluctantly  bade  his  kind  landlady  "  good  night,"  and 
departed  with  the  clerk. 

"Still" — thought  he  as  they  walked  along — "it 
seems  this  man's  name  is  "William  Still.  Then  if  he  is 
my  brother,  that  must  be  my  name,  too.  I  wish  I 
knowed.  And  his  mother  has  always  loved  the  boys 
she  lost,  and  talked  a  heap  about  'em.  Well,  this  is 
an  oncommon  case.  'Pears  like  they  all  believe  this 
man's  tale  ;  but  I  can't  think  my  mother's  a  livin'  yet, 
and  that  I've  come  right  on  to  one  of  her  children. 
It  seems  mighty  queer  that  they  all  are  so  ready  to  own 
a  stranger,  any  how.  Well,  I  shall  know  more  about 
it  to-morrow,  when  I  come  to  see  the  other  'ooman ; 
but  I'd  a  heap  ruther  staid  with  Mrs.  Byas  this  yer 
one  night.  Thar's  no  knowin'  what'll  happen  afore 
mornin'." 

Thus,  full  of  doubts  and  fears,  he  walked  silently 
beside  his  young  companion  towards  his  home.  This 
was  a  substantial  three-story  brick  house,  situated  in  a 
retired,  though  pleasant  part  of  the  city. 

Mrs.  Still  was  absent  on  a  visit  to  her  husband's 
relatives  in  New  Jersey  ;  and  after  eating  their  supper 
the  excited  brothers  separated  for  the  night. 


25-i          THE   KIDXAPPED  AXD   THE   RANSOMED. 

Peter,  when  left  alone  in  his  chamber,  gave  way  to 
his  long-pent  grief.  Oh !  why  had  he  thus  exposed 
himself  to  every  danger  ?  Why  did  not  Mr.  Friedman 
give  him  more  instructions  with  regard  to  his  future 
course.  Did  he  not  know  that  his  path  would  be  beset 
with  dangers?  Then  came  thoughts  of  poor  Yina, 
and  the  children  ;  and  he  knew  they  were  thinking  of 
"father"  and  feeling  sure  he  must  be  happy  now  that 
he  was  free.  Ah  well,  he  was  glad  they  could  not  know 
the  dangers  which  surrounded  him.  What  could  these 
people  intend  to  do  ?  Oh  !  if  he  should  find  after  all 
that  their  tale  were  true — but  it  could  not  be.  Per- 
haps they  were  all  Abolitionists,  and  had  contrived  a 
plan  to  carry  him  off  and  sell  him. 

For  fear  that  he  might  fall  asleep  and  be  surprised, 
he  piled  the  furniture  of  the  room  against  the  door ; 
looking  first  under  the  bed,  and  examining  carefully 
every  corner,  to  be  sure  that  no  enemy  was  concealed 
in  his  chamber.  He  then  lay  down  ;  and  after  weary- 
ing himself  with  striving  to  devise  some  plan  of  escape 
from  the  imaginary  dangers  which  encompassed  him, 
he  fell  asleep.  Even  then  he  found  no  rest,  for  soon 
his  room  was  stealthily  entered  by  armed  men.  Start- 
ing from  his  slumber,  he  listened  to  hear  their  foot- 
steps,— but  all  was  still.  Then  he  was  about  to  leave 
Tuscumbia  with  his  master ;  and  all  his  clothes  were 
gone.  Again  he  was  in  the  little  cabin  where  Yina 
cared  for  his  children,  and  prayed  for  their  father,  and 
ruffians  came  and  tore  him  from  their  arms.  All  night 
his  dreams  were  gloomy  horrid ;  and  in  the  morning 
he  was  unrefreshed.  Yet  the  light  of  a  new  day  was 
welcome ;  for  he  was  anxious  to  learn  more  of  these 
strange  people  who  claimed  him  as  a  brother. 


PETER 'RESTORED   TO   HIS   MOTHER.  255 

After  breakfast  lie  returned  to  his  boarding-house  ; 
where  he  had  a  long  conversation  with  Mrs.  Byas. 
She  was  utterly  unconscious  of  the  existence  of  his 
doubts  and  fears ;  yet  her  frankness  of  manner,  and 
her  evident  confidence  in  the  integrity  of  "  Mr.  Still" 
went  far  to  remove  them  from  his  mind. 

At  twelve  o'clock  he  went,  according  to  appoint- 
ment, to  the  house  of  Miss  Mary  Still,  in  order  to  ac- 
company her  in  a  visit  to  other  members  of  her  family. 
She  received  him  with  sisterly  affection — manifesting 
not,  by  word  or  look,  a  doubt  of  his  being  indeed  one 
of  her  own  lost  brothers ;  and  the  two  soon  started 
for  the  residence  of  the  other  sister  who  lived  in  the 
city. 

Her  name  was  Kitty.  She  was  several  years  older 
than  her  sister  Mary,  and  was,  at  this  time,  a  widow. 
Her  daughter  was  standing  near  the  door  as  they 
entered,  and  inquired  for  her  mother.  Away  she  ran 
to  call  her. 

"  O  mother,"  cried  she,  "  Aunt  Mary  has  come  and 
brought  a  man  with  her  that  looks  just  like  my  grand- 
father. Come,  quick,  and  see  him." 

"  Kitty,"  said  Mary,  as  her  sister  approached,  "  here 
is  one  of  our  lost  brothers.  He  came  to  William  last 
night,  and  I  am  going  right  away  with  him  to  see 
mother." 

Kitty  asked  no  explanation.  She  saw  in  him  a 
striking  likeness  to  both  her  parents ;  and  after  the 
first  burst  of  joy  was  over,  she  prepared  to  accompany 
them.  "  Yes,  I'll  go  too  ;"  said  she.  "  How  glaM  I 
am  !  "What  will  mother  say  ?" 

The  small  steamboat,  as  it  left  the  wharf  that  after- 
noon, bore  no  more  interesting  group. than  this.  The 


256          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND    THE   EANSOMED. 

two  sisters  alternately  questioned  and  congratulated 
their  new-found  brother;'  and  he — his  heart  was  full. 
Now,  for  a  moment,  he  believed  that  it  was  real — that 
they  were,  indeed  his  sisters  ;  and  then  his  doubts  re- 
turned. The  joy  was  greater  than  his  brightest  hopes 
had  promised. 

But  of  one  thing  he  was  sure.  He  was  upon  the 
Delaware  river — that  beautiful  stream  which  had  ever 
been  the  pole-star  of  his  hopes.  He  blessed  its  bright 
waters,  and  its  verdant  banks.  They  had  been  beauti- 
ful in  his  mind's  eye,  and  now  he  felt  that  even  if  this 
new  hope  were  all  delusive,  he  must  yet  be  near  the 
home  of  his  childhood.  He  strove  to  recall  the  look 
that  his  mother  wore  when  last  he  saw  her  face,  and 
then  he  wondered  how  he  could  for  a  moment  hope  to 
meet  her  again  in  life. 

Thus  between  hope  and  fear,  between  confidence  and 
doubt,  he  wavered,  till  they  reached  Long  Bridge, 
about  ten  miles  above  the  city.  Here  they  landed, 
and  took  seats  in  the  stage  for  Medford ;  near  which 
town  resided  their  brother — Dr.  James  Still. 

When  they  arrived  at  his  house,  it  was  nearly  dark, 
and  they  thought  best  to  remain  there  all  night,  and 
go  to  see  their  mother  the  next  morning.  "  There," 
said  one  of  the  sisters,  "  is  brother  James  now  walking 
towards  the  barn." 

He  turned,  and  looked  towards  them,  and  the  mo- 
ment Peter  saw  his  face,  his  doubts  departed,  to  return 
no  more.  He  was  so  like  poor  Levin,  that  dear  brother 
who  lay  low  in  Alabama,  there  could  be  no  mistake. 
The  full  tide  of  joy  rushed  over  his  soul.  He  had 
found  brothers  and  sisters !  Hi  a  mother  lived !  He 
should  yet  see  her  face. 


PETER  RESTORED  TO   HIS  MOTHER.  257 

For  a  short  time  after  their  arrival,  all  was  excite- 
ment and  confusion ;  the  sisters  who  had  accompanied 
him  both  talked  at  once,  and  all  the  family  pressed 
eagerly  forward  to  greet  him  who  had  come,  as  it  were, 
from  the  dead.  His  resemblance  to  their  family  was 
so  striking  that  they  hesitated  not  for  a  moment  to 
receive  him  as  a  brother. 

In  relating  incidents  of  the  long  years  of  his  bond- 
age the  evening  passed  away — that  pleasant  evening, 
long  will  it  be  remembered  by  each  member  of  that 
little  circle. 

Peter's  heart  was  now  at  rest.  He  had  realized  the 
dream  of  his  boyhood — the  great  hope  of  his  riper 
years.  "Oh,"  thought  he,  "if  poor  Levin  could  be 
with  us  now ;  and  if  Vina  and  the  dear  children  were 
only  free,  I  shouldn't  know  what  more  to  ask  for." 

Early  the  next  morning,  Dr.  Still,  with  his  new 
found  brother,  and  the  two  sisters  set  out  to  visit  their 
mother,  who  lived  eight  miles  distant.  On  the  way 
they  agreed,  as  far  as  possible,  to  avoid  surprising  or 
exciting  their  mother,  as  on  account  of  her  great  age 
(she  was  nearly  eighty)  they  feared  that  by  a  shock, 
even  though  it  were  a  joyful  one,  she  might  be  over- 
come. 

The  venerable  woman  lived  with  Samuel,  the  oldest, 
except  Peter,  of  her  sons,  upon  the  farm  which  had 
been  owned  by  her  late  husband.  When  her  children, 
arrived,  she  had  just  risen,  and  was  standing  in  the 
door.  Peter's  first  impulse  was  to  spring  from  the 
wagon,  and  to  clasp  the  precious  form  of  his  mother  to 
his  heart,  but  his  sisters'  caution  sounded  in  his  ears, 
and  he  struggled  to  control  himself.  Forcing  back  the 


258          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   KANSOMED. 

flood  of  tenderness  which  came  gushing  up  from  his 
throbbing  heart,  he  walked  with  placid  face  behind  his 
sisters,  who  advanced  to  greet  their  beloved  parent. 

"Mother,"  said  Kitty,  "you  know  it  is  the  custom, 
when  one  of  your  daughters  marries,  for  her  to  come 
home,  and  bring  your  new  son-in-law.  Now  which 
of  these  would  you  rather  take  for  your  son?"  pointing 
as  she  spoke  to  Peter,  and  to  the  man  who  had  been 
hired  by  her  brother  James  to  drive  them  out.  The 
mother  answered  with  a  smile,  and  the  party  entered 
the  house. 

Peter  chose  a  seat  near  his  mother,  and  subduing  his 
emotions,  gazed  earnestly  upon  her  aged  face.  There 
was  the  same  mole  concerning  which  he  had  so  often 
disputed  with  his  brother  Levin,  who  always  main- 
tained that  it  was  only  a  dark  spot  upon  her  face.  His 
thoughts  were  busy  with  the  past.  Ah  !  how  well  he 
remembered  the  time  when  his  young  lips  had  pressed 
that  mother's  cheek,  when  all  his  childish  griefs  had 
been  forgotten  while  he  lay  folded  to  that  loving 
breast. 

He  remembered  too,  the  kindnapper,  with  his  slimy  H 
lying  tongue ;  his  transfer  to  Kentucky,  and  the  heavy 
blows  by  which  they  strove  to  crush  out  from  his 
young  heart  the  memory  of  his  mother's  love,  all  his 
long  years  of  weary,  unrequited  toil — a  sad  procession, 
passed  before  him  as  he  sat  apparently  a  calm  spec- 
tator of  the  joyous  greetings  of  his  kindred.  His 
brother  also,  he  remembered,  and  that  brother's  grave, 
a  far-off,  unmarked  grave,  and  all  that  brother's  sor- 
rows. Yes,  he  remembered  all  the  past.  The  host  of 
cruel  wrongs  which  he  had  suffered  rushed  at  once 


PETER   RESTORED  TO   HIS   MOTHER.  259 

* 

into  his  mind,  and  from  the  stand  point  which  he  had 
now  gained,  the  heartless  acts  of  his  oppressors,  looked 
a  hundred  fold  more  hateful  than  before. 

But  he  was  not  long  left  to  his  own  thoughts.  The 
excitement  of  their  arrival  having  subsided,  he  said  to 
his  mother,  "  Are  all  these  your  children." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "the  most  of  them  are  mine." 

"  You  have  a  large  family." 

"Yes,  I  have  had  eighteen  children." 

"  How  many  have  you  livin'  ?" 

"I  have  buried  eight,  and  I  have  eight  living." 

"I  thought  you  said  you  had  eighteen — eight  livin' 
and  eight  dead  would  make  but  sixteen." 

The  breast  of  the  aged  woman  heaved  as  with  long- 
pent  anguish !  "  Ah  !"  said  she,  "  them  two  boys  have 
been  more  trouble  to  me  than  all  the  rest  of  my  chil- 
dren. I've  grieved  about  them  a  great  many  years." 

"What  became  of  them?"  asked  Peter. 

"  I  never  knew  what  became  of  them.  I  left  them 
asleep  in  the  bed,  the  last  time  I  ever  see  them.  I 
never  knew  whether  they  was  stole  and  carried  off,  or 
whether  they  was  dead.  I  hope  though,  they're  in 
heaven." 

At  that  moment,  her  oldest  daughter,  Mahala,*  who 
lived  very  near,  came  running  in.  "  Do  tell  me,"  cried 
she,  half  out  of  breath,  "  what  is  the  matter?  Is  any 
body  dead?" 

No  one  replied.  She  glanced  around  the  room. 
"  "Who's  this  ?"  cried  she,  talking  to  mother.  "Who 
is  he  ?  Is  n't  he  one  of  mother's  lost  children  ?  He 


*  Peter  remembered  her  as  'Merica.    The  little  Charity  he  also 
remembered,  was  the  daughter  of  his  mother's  sister. 


260        THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  HANSOMED. 

favors  the  family,  and  I'm  sure  lie  must  be  one  of 
them." 

"  Who  ?  me  ?"  said  Peter. 

"  Yes ;  mother  lost  two  children  a  great  many  years 
ago,  and  you  must  be  one  of  them." 

"  I'm  a  stranger  from  Alabama,"  said  he. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  cried  the  excited  woman.  "  I  am 
sure  you  are  one  of  mother's  children,  for  you  favor 
the  family." 

One  of  the  other  sisters  then  approached  the  mother, 
and  broke  to  her  the  joyful  news.  The  aged  woman 
sat  for  a  moment  bewildered  by  the  strange  scene — 
then  rising,  she  walked  into  the  next  room,  where  she 
knelt  in  prayer. 

In  a  short  time  she  returned,  trembling  in  every 
limb,  though  her  face  was  calm.  "Who  are  you?" 
said  she,  approaching  the  stranger. 

"  My  name,"  said  he,  "  is  Peter,  and  I  had  a  brother 
Levin.  My  father's  name  was  Levin,  and  my  mother's 
name  was  Sidney ." 

The  mother  raised  her  tear-dimmed  eyes  to  heaven. 
"O,  Lord,"  she  cried,  "how  long  have  I  prayed  to  see 
my  two  sons !  Can  it  be  that  they  have  come  ?  Oh ! 
if  you  are  my  child,  tell  me  how  dly1  once  more!" 

The  long-lost  son  was  blest.  He  clasped  his  mother 
to  his  warm,  full  heart,  and  joyful  tears  stole  down  his 
dusky  cheeks. 

One  week  he  spent  with  his  new-found  kindred. 
As  he  related  to  them  the  history  of  his  years  of  bond- 
age, and  described  the  strangely  varied  scenes  through 
which  his  path  had  led,  his  listeners  were  never  weary ; 
and  when,  he  told  of  all  poor  Levin's  sorrows,  of  his 
years  of  patient  suffering,  and  of  his  peaceful,  happy 


PETER   RESTORED   TO   HIS  MOTHER.  261 

death,  the  spirit  of  their  departed  brother  seemed  to 
hover  near  the  little  circle,  and  to  whisper  to  each 
weeper  there — "  Dry  now  your  tears,  for  where  I  dwell 
are  neither  bonds  nor  tortures — sorrow  and  sighing  are 
unknown." 

Peter  soon  discovered  that  the  habits  and  condition 
of  his  relatives  differed  widely  from  those  described  in 
the  South  as  universal  among  "  free  negroes."  They 
were  all  industrious  and  frugal ;  and  consequently,  in 
comfortable  circumstances. 

He  did  not  envy  them,  but,  as  he  noticed  their  in- 
telligence, and  saw  the  comforts  by  which  they  were 
surrounded  in  their  own  homes,  he  could  not  avoid  the 
thought  that  slavery  had  kept  him  ignorant  and  poor. 
"But  times  will  change,"  thought  he,  "and  if  ever  I 
get  my  family,  my  children  shall  have  a  chance  to 
know  as  much  as  others." 


CHAPTEE    XXX. 

PETER'S  FAREWELL  VISIT  TO  ALABAMA. 

GLADLY  would  his  friends  have  retained  Peter  in 
their  midst,  but  his  plan  was  fixed.  He  determined  to 
return  immediately  to  the  South,  that  he  might 
acquaint  his  family  with  his  success,  and  arrange  some 
plan  for  their  redemption.  He  felt  that  he  could  not 
himself  enjoy  the  blessings  of  freedom,  and  the  sweet 
society  of  those  who  loved  him  while  his  own  wife  and 
children  toiled  in  hopeless  bondage. 

To  his  proposed  return  his  friends,  at  first,  refused 
to  listen.  They  could  not  bear  to  lose  him  now,  .when 
they  had  just  learned  to  love  him,  and  they  felt  sure 
that  if  he  went  again  to  Alabama  they  should  see  his 
face  no  more. 

It  would  be  far  better,  they  said,  for  his  family  to 
gain  their  liberty  by  flight,  and  perhaps  if  he  would 
remain,  some  one  would  go  and  aid  them  to  escape. 
It  would  be  so  hazardous  for  him  to  venture  where,  if 
his  secret  were  discovered,  he  might  be  thrust  into  jail, 
and  sold  upon  the  block.  But  he  was  firm.  He  Knew 
the  dangers  which  awaited  him,  yet  he  had  promised 
his  family  that  he  would  return ;  and  he  would  rather 
lose  his  life  than  forfeit  his  word  to  them.  He  knew 


PETER'S  FAEEWELL  VISIT  TO  ALABAMA.     263 

how  anxiously  they  would  watcli  for  his  coming ;  he 
knew  how  their  hearts  would  faint  if  he  delayed ; — 
ah !  he  knew  that  his  love  was  the  one  blessed  light 
which  shone  upon  poor  Yina's  darkened  path.  From 
his  own  lips  she  should  first  hear  of  his  great  happi- 
ness, and  together  they  would  try  to  devise  a  plan  by 
which  herself  and  children  might  come  to  share  his 

joy- 
Perhaps  he  could  purchase  their  freedom.     This  had 

ever  been  his  hope ;  and  though  his  friends  believed  it 
was  impossible,  they  failed  to  shake  his  confidence  in 
the  wisdom  of  making  the  Attempt.  He  had  rescued 
himself  from  bondage,  and  he  knew  "no  such  word  as 
fail."  "I  can  die,"  said  he,  "but  I  cannot  live  with- 
out tryin'  to  do  something  for  my  family — I  must  go 
back." 

With  many  tears,  the  affectionate  circle  bade  him 
adieu.  "  O,  my  child!  my  child!"  sobbed  his  aged 
mother.  "I  never  shall  see  your  face  again.  You 
can't  get  back ;  and  your  poor  old  mother  will  go 
down  to  the  grave  a  mournin'  for  her  son.  May  the 
Lord  bless  you  wherever  you  go,  and  deliver  you  from 
every  danger!" 

On  the  eighth  of  August,  Peter  left  Philadelphia,  on 
his  return  to  Alabama.  He  feared  that  if  he  remained 
longer  in  that  citv,  he  might  meet  some  merchant 

«/  * 

whom  he  knew ;  as  at  that  season  they  were  ac- 
customed to  come  on  for  their  Fall  goods.  •  If  a  Tus- 
cumbian  should  see  him  there,  the  news  would  swiftly 
fly,  that  he  had  run  away  from  Mr.  Friedman ;  land 
then  he  could  not  return,  even  with  free  papers,  to 
complete  his  cherished  plan. 


264        THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

A  kind  Providence,  however,  attended  Mm  ;  and  lie 
reached  Cincinnati  without  meeting  a  familiar  face. 
Strangely  commingled  were  his  emotions,  as  he  re- 
turned. The  regretful  voices  of  his  brothers  and 
sisters  still  sounded  in  his  ears ;  and  the  memory  of 
all  their  kindness  during  his  short  stay,  was  warm 
within  his  heart.  He  rejoiced  that  he  had  found  them. 
Even  if  he  should  never  be  able  to  return  to  them, 
the  dark  uncertainty  which  had  so  long  hung  over  his 
parentage,  and  had  shrouded  all  his  life  in  gloom,  was 
gone.  Not  less  did  he  rejoice  in  the  character  of  his 
newly-discovered  kindred.  They  were  evidently 
honest  people — trusted  and  respected  by  the  surround- 
ing community.  They  had  enjoyed  great  privileges 
too,  for  they  were  all  well  educated ;  yet  they  were 
not  proud.  Ah,  well,  it  was  some  satisfaction  that  he 
had  ever  done  the  best  he  could.  He  had  risen  above 
all  who  had  been  his  companions  in  bondage,  and  he 
felt  that,  though  he  was  ignorant  of  books,  his  friends 
had  no  cause  to  be  ashamed  of  him. 

Arrived  at  Cincinnati,  he  related  to  his  former  mas- 
ter all  his  success,  and  communicated  also  his  plans  for 
the  future.  The  Jew  was  both  astonished  and  de- 
lighted at  the  good  fortune  of  his  humble  friend,  and 
readily  promised  to  aid  him,  if  possible,  in  negotiating 
for  the  purchase  of  his  family. 

Peter  remained  in  Cincinnati  a  week,  waiting  for 
his  free  papers.  These  he  was  anxious  to  possess  on 
his  return  to  Alabama,  as  something  might  occur 
which  would  render  it  necessary  for  him  to  prove  his 
freedom.  At  last  he  obtained  the  valued  certificate, 
of  which  the  following  is  a  copy : 


PETER'S  FAREWELL  VISIT  TO  ALABAMA.     265 

"  State  of  Ohio,   ) 
City  of  Cincinnati.  $ 

"  Be  it  known  that  before  me,  Henry  E.  Spencer, 
Mayor  of  said  City,  personally  appeared  Isaac  S. 
Friedman,  who  being  duly  sworn,  deposes  and  says : 
that  he  has  been  acquainted  with  a  colored  man 
named  Peter  Still,  alias  Peter  Friedman,  for  the  last 
five  years :  that  the  said  Peter  was  formerly  a  slave 
belonging  to  John  H.  Hogun,  residing  about  three 
miles  from  Tuscumbia,  in  the  State  of  Alabama:  that- 
Joseph  Friedman,  of  Tuscumbia,  hired  the  said  Peter 
for  about  two  years  of  the  said  John  H.  Hogun,  and 
afterwards  bought  him,  and  held  him  as  a  slave  for 
a,bout  two  years  longer,  when  Peter  bought  his  free- 
dom from  his  master,  the  said  Joseph  Friedman, 
brother  of  this  deponent,  by  paying  him  the  sum  of 
five  hundred  dollars ;  as  fully  appears  from  a  bill  of 
sale  given  by  said  Joseph  Friedman  to  said  Peter,  and 
dated  Tuscumbia,  Ala.,  the  16th  day  of  April,  1850, 
which  bill  of  sale  this  deponent  fully  recognizes  as 
genuine. 

"  And  further  this  deponent  sayeth  not. 

"  ISAAC  S.  FRIEDMAN." 

"  The  foregoing  affidavit  -of  the  above-named  Isaac 
S.  Friedman,  to  the  freedom  of  the  within-named  Peter 
Still,  having  been  duly  sworn  to  and  subscribed  before 
me, — 

"  I  therefore  do  declare  the  above-named  Peter  Still, 
alias  Peter  Friedman,  to  be  a  free  person,  and  entitled 
to  all  the  privileges  of  free  persons  of  color,  accord- 
ing to  the  laws  of  the  State  of  Ohio. 

"  Said  Peter  Still  is  about  forty -nine  years  of  age, 
12 


266          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

is  five  feet  seven  and  a  half  inches  in  height,  of  a 
brownish  black  complexion,  and  without  any  marks 
or  cuts. 

"  Given  under  my  hand,  and  the  Corporate  Seal  of 
the  City  of  Cincinnati,  this  22d  day  of  August, 

1850.  " 

"H.  E.  SPENCER, 

"  Mayor." 

Peter  teas  now  a  man.  His  years  of  patient  toil  for 
noble  objects  had  not  made  him  such — his  warm,  un- 
selfish heart  had  never  proved  him  worthy  of  the  en- 
nobling title — but  he  possessed  free  papers.  Guard 
well  the  treasure,  Peter  ;  for  the  papers  lost,  you 
may  again  be  bought  and  sold — a  thing  of  merchan- 
dise— a  slave. 

Immediately  after  receiving  his  papers,  he  started 
for  Tuscumbia.  He  wore  not  proudly  his  new  honors, 
but  laying  the  precious  certificate  in  the  bottom  of  his 
trunk,  he  travelled  meekly  as  a  slave  upon  a  "  pass" 
from  Mr.  Friedman.  This  pass  was  directed  to  Mr. 
Alexander,  of  Tuscumbia,  a  gentleman  who  had  once 
before  acted  as  his  guardian,  during  the  temporary 
absence  of  both  the  Friedman's.  It  requested  this 
gentleman  to  permit  Peter  to  stay  at  Tuscumbia  as 
long  as  he  should  wish  to  do  so ;  and  to  send  him  back 
whenever  he  should  be  ready  to  return ; — as  his  labor 
could  be  made  profitable  on  a  steamboat,  and  his 
owner  could  also  take  better  care  of  him  if  he  had  him 
near  himself. 

Nothing  of  interest  occurred  on  the  homeward 
journey.  The  boat  reached  Tuscumbia  Landing  on 
the  evening  of  the  last  day  of  August ;  and  early  the 
next  morning,  Peter  walked  up  to  town. 


PETER'S  FAREWELL  VISIT  TO  ALABAMA.      267 

Many  were  the  friendly  greetings  he  received  as  he 
passed  through  the  streets  that  day.  Many  questions 
were  asked  him  concerning  Mr.  Friedman — his  busi- 
ness prospects,  etc.  To  all  these  Peter  replied  as  he 
had  been  instructed.  Mr.  Friedman  would  be  there 
before  Christmas,  and  if  Peter  worked  till  that  tune  on 
a  steamboat,  he  should  then  come  with  him.  Mr. 
Friedman  said  he  could  earn  him  more  money  upon  a 
boat  than  any  where  else,  and  had  promised  to  give 
him  something  for  himself  if  he  did  well. 

Many  gentlemen  questioned  him  very  closely  re- 
specting the  Free  States ;  how  he  liked  Cincinnati,  and 
whether  he  saw  there  any  Abolitionists. 

His  ideas  of  these  "  desperate  characters"  had  been 
greatly  modified  during  the  week  which  he  had  spent 
among  his  relatives  j  but  he  answered  in  accordance 
with  his  old  ideas — ideas  which  are  carefully  inculcated 
in  the  minds  of  slaves.  He  was  "  mighty  skeered," 
he  said,  all  the  time  he  was  in  Cincinnati ;  and  did  not 
dare  to  go  out  "after  night."  One  night,  he  "reck- 
oned" he  heard  the  "Abolitionists  fightin'  in  the 
streets ;"  but  he  was  away  up  stairs,  and  "  too  badly 
skeered  to  come  down." 

To  all  these  questionings  he  answered  as  truly  as  he 
could,  and  keep  his  secret ;  but  they  made  him  very 
uneasy.  He  saw  that  the  moment  he  should  speak  a 
word  in  favor  of  the  Free  States,  he  would  be  sus- 
pected, and  all  his  movements  watched.  Then,  if  the 
secret  of  his  freedom  should  be  discovered,  his  kind 
friend,  the  Jew.  would  be  drawn  into  trouble,  as  the 
citizens  would  at  once  accuse  him  of  sending  back  a 
free  negro  to  poison  the  minds  of  the  surrounding 
slaves.  So  he  represented  the  black  people  of  Cincin- 


268          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

nati  as  being  wretchedly  poor ;  and  the  contrast  .which 
he  drew  between  the  laborers  of  that  city,  and  the 
happier  slaves  by  whom  he  was  surrounded,  would 
have  delighted  the  author  of  the  "  South  Side  View." 

The  same  day  on  which  Peter  arrived  in  town,  a 
letter  came  from  Mr.  Sloan,  Principal  of  the  Seminary. 
He  was  then  spending  the  Sdrnmer  vacation  at  the 
North ;  and  he  wrote  to  request  Peter  to  whitewash 
the  Seminary,  and  to  put  the  whole  building  in  com- 
plete order,  for  as  he  intended  to  bring  on  a  new  corps 
of  teachers,  he  wished  to  find  the  place  prepared  for 
their  reception. 

Tfiis  was  most  fortunate  for  Peter.  He  entered,  at 
once,  upon  this  work,  and  soon  fell  into  the  old  chan- 
nel of  promiscuous  labors.  His  cheerfulness  remained 
unchanged — indeed  he  was  the  same  industrious, 
respectful,  obedient  servant ;  and  those  of  the  Tus- 
cumbians  who  had  most  jealously  watched  his  move- 
ments, at  last  decided  that  not  even  a  trip  to 
Cincinnati  could  spoil  Uncle  Peter — he  had  too  much 
sense  to  be  carried  away  with  the  folly  of  the  Abo- 
litionists. 

The  Saturday  evening  after  his  arrival  in  town, 
Peter  rode  out  to  Bainbridge.  He  would  have  gone 
sooner,  for  he  was  most  impatient  to  see  his  beloved 
family ;  but  he  had  determined  to  resume  his  old 
habits,  and  to  do  nothing  which  could  betray  the  least 
unusual  excitement  of  his  feelings, 

As  he  rode  along  the  lonely  road,  his  thoughts  were 
busy.  Only  six  weeks  had  passed  since  last  he  saw 
his  dear  ones,  but  even  in  that  short  time  what  a 
wealth  of  experience  had  he  gained  !  He  had  seen — 
had  tasted — liberty ; — yet  he  could  not  enjoy  it.  He 


PETEE'S  FAREWELL  VISIT  TO  ALABAMA.      269 

could  never,  indeed,  be  really  free,  while  those  he 
loved  so  well  were  slaves.  But  how  should  he  get 
them  ?  He  knew  not  what  course  would  be  the  best, 
but  he  knew  how  to  trust  in  that  Good  Father,  who 
had  thus  far  prospered  him  in  all  his  ways.  He  re- 
solved to  work  hard,  and  earn  all  he  could,  for  what- 
ever plan  he  might  adopt,  money  would  never  fail  to 
be  of  use. 

But  perhaps  even  now,  and  his  thoughts  grew  sad, 
— some  one  of  that  little  number  had  gone  down  to 
the  grave.  The  sickly  season  was  at  its  height ;  and 
Death,  within  the  last  few  weeks,  had  entered  many  a 
lowly  cabin,  and  many  a  lofty  hall. 

He  hastened  on,  yet  it  was  quite  dark  before  he 
reached  the  plantation.  He  halted  at 'the  door  of 
Vina's  cabin,  and  glanced  anxiously  at  the  group 
within.  They  were  all  there.  Yina  was  preparing  to 
cook  the  supper,  and  the  boys  were  busied  in  making 
a  fire  for  her.  Thank  God !  they  all  lived ! 

His  approach  was  not  long  unperceived.  "  Yes,  it 
is  father  I"  burst  at  once  from  the  lips  of  the  two  sons, 
and  after  the  first  joyful  how'dy',  they  took  his  horse 
and  led  it  away. 

"  0  Yina,"  whispered  Peter,  as  he  still  held  her  by 
both  her  hands,  "  I've  found  all  my  people.  I've  seen 
my  mother !  Yina,  my  mother's  a  livin',  and  I've  got 
five  brothers  and  three  sisters !" 

Soon  the  boys  came  in,  and  then  the  history  of  the 
journey,  with  its  glad  results,  was  narrated  to  them 
all.  How  they  marveled  as  he  described  to  them  the 
great  cities  through  which  he  had  passed,  and  all  the 
new  strange  sights  his  eyes  had '  seen !  But  still 
greater  was  their  wonder  at  the  story  of  their  far-off 


270         THE    KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

kindred,  to  whom  their  father  had  come  as  from  the 
dead.  And  then  to  think  that  father's  people  were  all 
free !  Ah !  how  the  faint  hopes  they  had  cherished 
of  joining  their  father,  at  some  future  day,  in  the 
happy  home  he  would  provide  for  them,  away  off 
where  all  were  free — how  these  hopes  grew  and 
strengthened  in  their  hearts  till  they  could  scarcely 
refrain  from  shouting  them  aloud !  Yet  they  were 
silent.  All  these  bright  visions  of  the  coming  joy 
they  shut  closely  in  from  the  curious  eyes  of  their 
outside  companions — in  their  mother's  cabin  only,  and 
even  there  with  caution  might  they  give  utterance  to 
their  joyful  hopes. 

Peter's  return  caused  much  excitement  among  the 
slaves  on  the  plantation.  It  was  whispered  around 
that  he  had  been  to  Cincinnati,  and  they  were  all  eager 
to  learn  what  he  saw  there  ;  and  how  the  people  lived 
in  a  Free  State.  The  mistress  also  questioned  him 
concerning  his  new  manner  of  life  upon  a  steamboat — 
how  he  enjoyed  it,  etc.  He  replied,  that  he  liked  the 
business  very  well ;  and  that  his  master  was  very 
kind  to  him. 

"  Mass'r  Isaac  says  he'll  buy  my  family,  if  I  do  well," 
added  he,  "  do  you  reckon  old  Mass'r  would  sell  'em, 
Ma'am?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  lady,  "  he  thinks  a  great 
deal  of  tnem  all,  and  I  reckon  he  would  ask  a  high 
price  for  them.  I  don't  believe  less  than  three  thou- 
sand dollars  would  buy  them  all,  if  indeed  he  would 
consent  to  let  them  go  at  all." 

To  his  wife  and  children  Peter  revealed  all  his  plans 
for  their  redemption.  He  would  work,  he  said,  in 
Tuscumbia,  till  he  had  earned  enough  to  bear  his  ex- 


PETER'S  FAKEWELL  VISIT  TO  ALABAMA.      271 

penses  back  to  Philadelphia.  He  dared  not  stay  in 
Alabama  longer  than  was  necessary,  for  fear  something 
might  occur  which  would  compel  him  to  reveal  his 
cherished  secret.  While  there  his  liberty  was  all  the 
time  unsafe. 

On  his  return  to  the  North,  he  intended  to  set 
diligently  to  work  to  earn  money  to  buy  his  family ; 
and  he  hoped  his  brothers  would  be  able  to  advance  a 
part  of  the  price.  This  could  soon  be  refunded  to 
them,  when  they  were  all  free  and  able  to  work 
together.  He  mentioned  to  them,  also,  the  suggestion 
which  some  of  his  friends  had  made  with  regard  to 
sending  a  man  to  assist  them  to  escape.  "  My  people 
told  me,"  said  he,  "  that  folks  are  runnin'  away  con- 
stant, and  gwine  to  Canada,  a  place  away  to  the  North, 
where  they  never  let  the  masters  go  to  hunt  them." 
But  still  there  were  so  many  chances  for  them  to  be 
taken  and  carried  back  before  they  could  reach  that 
distant  haven,  that  he  decidedly  preferred  to  purchase 
them.  Yet,  "if  they  do  send  for  you,"  said  he,  "you 
must  be  ready — and  do  the  best  you  can."  They  were 
all  willing  to  do  whatever  he  thought  best.  The 
bright  hope  of  freedom  with  their  father  illumined  all 
the  paths  which  Fancy  painted  in  the  future. 

Early  on  Monday  morning,  Peter  returned  to  town, 
and  resumed  his  accustomed  labors.  His  first  busi- 
ness was  to  put  the  Seminary  in  order,  according  to 
Mr.  Sloan's  request.  His  manners  and  appearance 
were  all  unchanged.  He  wore  his  blue  jean  rounda- 
bout and  trousers ;  and  as  he  stood  among  the  waiters 
in  the  dining-room  of  Mr.  Home's  hotel,  none  of  the 


272          THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EANSOMED. 

boarders  dreamed  that  he  was  that  despised  and  hated 
biped — "a  free  nigger." 

For  two  months  and  a  half  he  remained  in  Tuscum- 
bia;  and  during  that  time  he  earned  sixty  dollars. 
Once  in  two  weeks,  as  had  been  his  custom  for  many 
years,  he  went  to  see  his  family.  He  would  have  gone 
every  week',  now  that  he  was  so  soon  to  leave  them, 
but  he  dreaded  to  excite  observation  by  any  change 
in  his  old  habits ;  and  besides,  he  would  have  to  hire 
a  horse  to  ride,  and  that  would  diminish  his  gains. 

On  Saturday,  the  ninth  of  November,  Peter  rode 
out  to  the  plantation  for  his  last  visit.  He  had  sold 
every  article  he  possessed,  except  his  necessary  cloth- 
ing, and  such  articles  as  he  knew  would  be  useful  to 
his  family.  With  these  last  his  horse  was  now  loaded, 
and  at  sunset  he  rode  up  to  the  cabin  door. 
'  His  family  were  expecting  him,  and  they  knew  this 
would  be  his  last  visit.  Its  hours  were,  therefore, 
doubly  precious.  Oh !  if  they  should  be  the  last  which 
the  whole  family  might  ever  spend  together ! 

He  renewed  his  promise  to  buy  them,  if  possible, 
and  charged  them  to  hold  themselves  ready.  "Now, 
boys,"  said  he,  "  you'd  best  not  marry  till  you  hear 
from  me,  for  if  I  live,  I  will  get  you  all,  sure.  And 
be  good  and  kind  to  your  mother,  for  she'll  have  no 
one  to  take  care  of  her  now  but  you.  Get  every  thing 
you  can  to  make  her  comfortable  ; — and  you,  Catha- 
rine, dont  you  do  any  thing  that  will  make  your 
mother  ashamed  of  you, — for  she  has  a  heap  of  trouble, 
any  how,  and  you  all  oughtent  to  give  her  no  more. 
Behave  yourselves  well ;  and  then  people  will  trust 
you,  and  you  will  be  well  thought  of  by  every  one." 


PETER'S  FAREWELL  VISIT  TO  ALABAMA.      273 

About  five  miles  above  Bainbridge,  in  the  Muscle 
Shoals,  is  an  island  containing  about  two  hundred 
acres,  which  belongs  to  Mr.  McKiernan.  Here  young 
Peter  and  Levin  were  to  be  employed  during  the  week; 
and,  as  the  cotton-picking  season  was  then  at  its  height, 
they  were  obliged  to  go  with  their  week's  allowance 
on  Sunday  evening,  that  no  time  might  be  lost  on 
Monday. 

After  the  boys  had  gone,  Peter's  friends — and  he 
had  many  on  the  place — all  called  to  say,  "  Good  bye," 
till  Christmas ;  when  they  expected  he  would  come, 
as  usual,  to  spend  the  Holidays. 

These  partings  over,  he  was  left  alone  with  his  wife 
and  daughter.  Poor  Yina!  she  possessed  not  the 
buoyant  hopes  that  filled  her  children's  hearts — she 
was  not  so  young  as  they; — and  though  she  lacked 
not  confidence  in  her  husband's  truth,  yet  she  could 
not  quell  the  fear  that  this  was  the  last  evening  they 
should  ever  spend  together.  She  selected  from  her 
simple  wardrobe  two  or  three  articles  of  clothing  which 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  see  her  wear,  and  gave 
them  to  him.  "  When  you  want  to  see  something 
that  looks  like  me,"  said  she,  "you  can  look  at  these 
yer.  They'll  make  you  think  of  Yina." 

Monday  morning  came,  and  Yina  and  Catharine 
must  go  early  to  the  field,  while  the  husband  and 
father  was  forced  to  return  to  town  to  complete  the 
arrangements  for  his  final  departure.  They  all  arose 
at  dawn  and  in  the  dim  morning  twilight  —  they 
parted. 

Peter  lingered  a  moment  at  the  cabin  door.  How 
could  he  say  "  Good  bye  I"  There  stood  his  wife  and 
daughter — and  great  tears  were  in  their  eyes.  How 
12* 


274         THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

gladly  would  lie  shield  them  from  every  breath  of 
sorrow ! — but  now  he  could  not  stay.  Once  more  he 
kissed  them  both — ah !  was  it  for  the  last  time  ?  He 
could  not  speak,  but  with  one  long  pressure  of  their 
hands,  he  tore  himself  away,  and  mounted  his  horse, 
which  stood  already  at  the  door. 

How  the  sobbings  of  these  loved  ones  resounded 
in  the  depths  of  his  fond  heart !  For  a  moment  he 
almost  wished  he  had  not  thought  of  becoming  free  ; 
but  then  the  great  glad  hope  of  saving  them  returned, 
and  he  rejoiced  that  he  had  power  to  make  the  effort. 

Heavy  were  the  hearts  of  the  mother  and  her  chil- 
dren, as  they  traversed  the  long  cotton  rows  that  day  ; 
but  their  fingers  must  needs  be  light.  The  overseer's 
whip  takes  no  note  of  aching  hearts.  The  baskets 
must  be  filled. 

The  light  of  hope  soon  returned  to  her  children's 
eyes,  but  Vina  was  still  in  darkness.  Accustomed  to 
the  helplessness  of  slavery,  she  could  not  realize  that 
it  was  possible  for  her  husband  to  be  safe,  "  'way 
off  yon'  by  himself,  without  anybody  to'  take  care  of 
him." 

The  next  "Wednesday  morning,  November  13th,  Mr. 
Alexander,  to  whose  guardianship  Peter  had  been  con- 
signed by  Mr.  Friedman,  placed  him  on  board  the  stage 
for  Eastport,  a  small  town  at  the  foot  of  Colbert's 
Shoals,  about  thirty  miles  below  Tuscumbia.  (The 
water  was,  at  this  time,  so  low  in  the  river,  that  boats 
could  not  pass  these  shoals.)  Here  he  took  passage 
on  a  small  steamboat,  with-  the  Captain  of  which,  Mr. 
George  Warren,  he  was  acquainted. 

This  boat,  however,  went  no  further  than  Paducah, 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Tennessee,  and  there  he  was 


PETER'S  FAREWELL  VISIT  TO  ALABAMA.     275 

obliged  to  wait  for  a  boat  to  ascend  the  Ohio.  Soon 
one  came  along — a  Cincinnati  boat — bound'homewards 
from  St.  Louis. 

Peter  stepped  on  board  and  inquired  for  the  Captain, 
while  two  boys  from  Captain  Warren's  boat  were 
bringing  on  his  trunk.  The  boat  was  again  under  way, 
before  the  Captain  could  be  found.  "  Here,"  said  the 
clerk,  as  at  length  his  superior  officer  appeared,  "  this 
man  wants  to  go  to  Cincinnati." 

"  Why  didn't  you  name  it  before  ?"  cried  the  Cap- 
tain in  a  passionate  voice ;  and,  turning  to  the  pilot,  he 
ordered  him  to  land  and  "  set  that  fellow  ashore." 
"  But,"  said  Peter,  "  I  did  inquire  for  the  Captain — " 
"  Never  mind,  never  mind,  step  right  off." 
"  I  have  got  a  pass  and  other  papers,  and  I  want  to 
go  to  Cincinnati,  or  leastways,  to  Louisville." 
"  Never  mind — step  right  off — step  right  off.'1 
Captain  Warren  seeing  the  distress  of  his  humble 
friend,  called  out  to  the  Commander  of  the  Cincinnati 
boat — "  It  is  all  right — let  the  boy  go.     He  has  a  pass, 
and  everything  regular." 

But  the  little  great  man  was  inflexible.  "  Step  right 
}ff — step  right  off  " — was  his  only  answer ;  and  Peter 
was  obliged  to  go  ashore  and  wait  for  another  boat. 

This  was  Saturday  evening,  and  here  he  remained 
till  eleven  o'clock  on  Sunday  night,  when  Captain 
Francis'  boat  came  down  from  Louisville.  This  was  a 
Tennessee  Eiver  Packet,  but  on  account  of  the  low 
water,  she  could  not  go  up  the  river,  and  so  made  only 
short  trips  between  Louisville  and  Paducah.  Captain 
Francis  having  resided  many  years  in  Tuscumbia, 
knew  Peter  well,  and  therefore  hesitated  not  to  take 
up  the  river  on  his  boat. 


276        THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   KANSOMED. 

They  reached  Louisville  on  "Wednesday  morning, 
and  as  he  would  have  several  hours  before  the  Cincin- 
nati boat  went  out,  he  went  to  see  Dr.  Williamson 
Fisher,  a  son  of  his  old  master,  John  Fisher,  of  Lex- 
ington. 

This  gentleman  received  his  father's  former  slave 
with  great  kindness ;  though  he  was  so  young  when 
the  two  boys  were  sold  to  old  Nattie  Gist,  that  he 
scarcely  remembered  them.  He  had,  however,  in  his 
possession  the  bill  of  sale  which  his  father  received  at 
the  time  he  bought  them. 

This  short  visit  was  highly  enjoyed  by  Peter.  The 
days  of  his  childhood  came  vividly  to  his  recollection  ,• 
and  though  they  were  not  free  from  hardships,  yet  the 
sunshine  of  youthful  hope  had  never  ceased  to  gild  their 
memory.  What  were  the  buffetings  he  then  received 
compared  to  the  anguish  which  he  had  suffered  in  later 
years.  As  a  "  little  negro,"  he  rose  each  morning  from 
his  ample  couch — the  floor,  with  supple  limbs,  and 
heart  unmindful  of  the  old  .day's  sorrows,  and  ate  with 
a  keen  relish  his  homely  breakfast  of  corn  cake.  He 
thought  of  his  far-off  mother,  and  longed  to  return  to 
her — but  his  attention  was  easily  diverted  by  surround- 
ing objects,  and  he  was,  after  all,  a  merry  child. 
During  his  manhood  he  had  suffered  few  of  the  physi- 
cal ills  of  slavery — but  the  iron  had  entered  his  soul. 
He  had  seen  his  fellows  crushed — his  brother  beaten, 
even  by  the  master  whom  he  loved,  because  he  could 
not  stifle  the  pure  affections  of  his  heart ;  his  own 
loved  wife  had  been  insulted — and  well  nigh  murdered, 
because  she  would  not  submit  to  the  vile  wishes  of  a 
remorseless  ruffian ;  and  yet  he  had  not  dared  to  raise 
his  voice,  or  lift  his  own  right  arm  in  their  defence. 


PETER'S  FAREWELL  VISIT  TO  ALABAMA.      277 

All  these  remniscences  of  other  days  crowded  his 
memory  as  he  stood  in  the  presence  of  him  who,  when 
an  infant  in  the  cradle,  was  his  "little  master,"  and  who 
had  inherited  from  his  father  the  price  of  his  young 
nerves  and  sinews.  And  then  came  the  sweet  thought, 
that  by  his  own  exertions,  through  the  blessing  of  that 
Father  who  had  never  yet  forsaken  him,  he  was  no 
more  a  slave. 

Dr.  Fisher  gave  him  much  information  concerning 
his  early  companipns  in  Lexington ;  from  many  of 
whom  he  had  not  heard  since  he  left  there  in  his  youth ; 
but  before  he  was  half  satisfied  with  listening  to  these 
interesting  details,  his  time  was  spent,  and  he  was 
forced  to  leave. 

He  next  went  in  search  of  a  young  Mr.  Johnson, 
from  Tuscumbia,  to.  whom  Mr.  Alexander  had  sent  a 
letter  bespeaking  his  assistance,  if  necessary,  in  procur- 
ing a  passage  for  the  bearer  to  Cincinnati.  This  gen- 
tleman was  pursuing  the  study  of  medicine  in  Louis- 
ville ;  and  Peter  went  to  the  Medical  College,  and  to 
various  other  places  in  the  city,  but  failed  to  find  him. 
He  was  now  at  a  loss  what  to  do,  for  he  had  learned 
from  his  experience  at  Paducah  how  little  favor  his 
pass  would  gain  from  the  Captains  of  the  Cincinnati 
boats. 

He  walked  down  to  the  wharf,  and  the  first  man  he 
met  there  was  a  young  Mr.  McFarland,  from  TuscUm- 
bia,  who  had  formerly  been  clerk  on  Captain  Francis' 
boat.  Mr.  O'Reilly  of  the  Telegraph  was  also  there, 
and  he  immediately  recognized  Peter,  having  em- 
ployed him  during  the  time  he  spent  in  Tuscumbia  to 
take  care  of  his  office.  These  two  gentlemen  kindly 
procured  a  passage  for  him  on  the  boat  to  Cincinnati, 


278         THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

and  with,  many  thanks  for  their  friendly  assistance,  he 
went  on  board. 

He  had  now  bid  a  final  adieu  to  slave-land,  still  his 
heart  was  not  at  rest.  For  himself  he  had  little  fear. 
His  free  papars  were  safe,  and  he  was  at  length  beyond 
the  necessity  of  affecting  any  relationship  to  slavery. 
But  his  family — ah  !  when  he  thought  how  long  a  time 
might  pass  before  they  could  be  loosed  from  bondage, 
he  could  only  trust  in  the  power  above,  and  pray  for 
patience. 

He  was  disappointed  in  his  hope  of  finding  Mr. 
Friedman  in  Cincinnati,  he  having  gone  to  Illinois. 
Peter  therefore  hastened  on  to  Pittsburg,  and  thence  to 
Philadelphia.  His  free  papers  he  carried  in  his  pocket, 
but  as  no  zealous  negro-catcher  chanced  to  fix  upon 
him  his  greedy  eye,  he  had  no  need  to  show  them  on 
the  way. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 
THE   ESCAPE. 

LATE  at  night,  on  the  thirtieth  of  November,  Peter 
reached  his  brother's  house  in  "Philadelphia.  He 
trembled  not  now,  as  when  at  first  his  feet  approached 
his  kinsman's  threshold.  A  sense  of  personal  security 
rested  upon  his  heart,  and  the  light  of  quiet  happiness 
beamed  from  his  smiling  face. 

During  the  few  days  which  he  spent  with  his  brother 
William,  the  idea  of  sending  a  man  to  rescue  his  family 
was  again  suggested.  Many  of  his  brother's  friends 
were  earnest  advocates  of  such  a  plan.  It  would  take 
too  long  to  raise  the  sum  requisite  to  purchase  them, 
and  besides,  the  offering  of  money  for  their  ransom 
would  in  some  sense  recognize  the  right  of  the  slave- 
holder to  claim  property  in  human  flesh.  "  We  are 
anxious,"  they  said,  "  to  aid  your  loved  ones  in 
escaping  from  bondage,  but  we  cannot  bear  to  give 
gold  to  him  who  has  so  long  defrauded  the  helpless 
laborers  of  their  hire." 

To  all  these  arguments  of  his  friends,  Peter  opposed 
the  dangers  of  their  scheme.  It  would,  he  said,  be 
very  difficult  for  them  to  escape ;  and  then,  if  they 
should  be  pursued  and  taken,  the  sufferings  of  their 
whole  past  lives  were  nothing  to  the  punishment  they 

[279] 


280        THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

might  receive.  And  worst  of  all,  they  might  be  sold ; 
and  then  all  chance  of  getting  them  would  be  for  ever 
lost. 

But  those  to  whose  proposal  he  objected  were  edu- 
cated men,  while  he  was  but  a  poor  emancipated  slave, 
who  never  in  his  life  had  read  a  book — and  their  per- 
suasions triumphed.  He  described  to  them,  though 
with  reluctance,  the  location  of  the  premises  where  his 
family  might  be  found,  and  also  the  persons  of  his  wife 
and  children. 

He  then  left  these  friends  to  mature  their  plan,  while 
he  went  to  visit  his  mother.  He  was  deeply  anxious 
concerning  the  result  of  the  deliberations  then  going 
"on  in  Philadelphia,  for  he  could  not  yet  give  up  the 
idea  which  he  had  so  long  cherished — that  of  attempt- 
ing the  purchase  of  those  whose  safety  he  prized  above 
all  other  objects. 

Many  people  in  the  vicinity  of  his  mother's  home 
had  heard  of  the  return  of  the  long-lost  son  and 
brother,  and  now,  when  they  learned  his  anxiety  to  re- 
deem his  family  they  kindly  volunteered  to  aid  him. 
He  accepted  with  a  grateful  heart  the  contributions 
which  they  offered,  though  how  they  could  be  made 
available  was  still  a  question. 

"When  he  had  been  two  weeks  in  New  Jersey,  he  re- 
ceived a  letter  requesting  his  immediate  return  to 
Philadelphia,  and  he  hasted  to  obey  the  summons. 
He  had  already  received  one  hundred  dollars  as  the 
beginning  of  a  fund  to  ransom  those  he  loved,  and 
t  that  he  took  with  him  to  the  city. 

During  his  absence,  a  man  named  Seth  Concklin, 
who  had  heard  of  his  case,  had  offered  to  go  to  Ala- 
bama, and  bring  his  wife  and  children.  He  asked  no 


THE   ESCAPE.  281 

further  equipment  for  the  journey  than  sufficient 
money  to  defray  his  necessary  expenses,  and  some 
sign  whereby  the  family  would  recognize  him  as  a 
friend. 

Peter's  heart  trembled.  To  the  proposal  of  his 
friends  he  had  assented;  but  then  it  was  indefinite, 
and  he  doubted  the  possibility  of  their  finding  a  man 
who  would  face  the  dangers  of  such  an  undertaking. 
He  had  all  the  time  cherished  a  secret  hope  that  they,- 
would  yet  abandon  this  project,  and  aid  him  in  accom-  I 
plishing  the  plan  which,  he  so  much  preferred.  Not 
that  he  thought  it  would  be  unjust  or  wrong  to  aid 
them  to  escape.  Ah,  no  !  He  had  never  yet  become 
so  thoroughly  enslaved  in  spirit  as  for  a  moment  to  re- 
cognize the  right  of  man  to  hold  his  brother  man  in 
bonds  ;  but  merely  as  a  matter  of  policy  he  had  chosen 
to  purchase  their  freedom — though  to  do  so  would  cost 
him  both  toil  and  patience. 

Now,  however,  the  scheme  was  all  arranged,  and 
these  good  friends  had  manifested  so  warm  an  interest 
in  promoting  his  happiness  that  he  could  not  refuse 
them  all  the  aid  which  it  was  in  his  power  to  give. 

He  accordingly  gave  Concklin  an  accurate  descrip- 
tion of  Mr.  McKiernan's  place,  with  directions  con- 
cerning the  best  methods  of  approaching  it.  He  told 
him  also  the  names  and  ages  of  his  family ;  and  gave 
him  a  cape  of  Vina's — one  of  the  articles  of  dress  which 
she  had  given  him  as  a  keepsake.  "  When  she  sees 
this,"  said  he,  "  she  will  know  that  you  are  a  friend; 
but  please,  sir,  be  careful  and  don't  get  'em  into 
trouble.  It  '11  go  mighty  hard  with  'em  if  they  try  to 
run  off,  and  Mr.  McKiernan  cotches  'em." 

The  one  hundred  dollars  which  Peter  had  received 


282         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

in  New  Jersey  was  now  devoted  to  defraying  the  cost 
of  this  expedition,  and  early  in  January,  all  the 
arrangements  having  been  completed,  Concklin  enter- 
ed upon  his  perilous  undertaking. 

We  subjoin  the  account  which  is  given  by  Rev.  Dr. 
Furness,  of  Concklin's  introduction  to  the  friends  of 
the  slave  in  Philadelphia,  and  also  of  the  first  steps  that 
were  taken  in  this  daring  enterprise. 

"  Of  this  remarkable  person,  whose  history,  and 
heroic  tragedy,  must  not  be  suffered  to  die,  but  very 
little  was  known  at  that  time.  He  was  not  a  member 
of  any  Abolition  Society,  nor  was  it  known  that  he 
had  any  fixed  residence.  A  man,  plainly  dressed,  and 
slightly  built,  but  evidently  active  and  vigorous,  with 
a  face  expressive  of  great  decision,  had  come  occasion- 
ally to  the  Anti-Slavery  Office  in  Philadelphia,  to  in- 
quire about  Mr.  Chaplin,  then  in  prison  in  Maryland, 
for  aiding  certain  slaves  in  an  attempt  to  escape  from 
the  District  of  Columbia.  The  stranger  manifested  a 
deep  interest  in  Mr.  Chaplin's  fate,  contributed  a  small 
sum  monthly  to  the  Chaplin  fund,  and  on  one  occasion 
produced  a  statement  in  writing  of  a  plan,  which  he 
had  devised,  subject  to  the  approval  of  Mr.  Chaplin's 
friends,  whereby  he  offered  to  go  to  Maryland,  liberate 
Mr.  Chaplin,  and  bring  him  safely  into  the  Free  States ; 
requiring  only  a  moderate  sum  to  defray  his  expenses. 
The  scheme  was  striking  for  its  boldness  and  sagacity, 
but  all  participation  -in  it  was  declined  by  the  agents 
of  the  Anti-Slavery  Society,  on  the  obvious  ground 
that  it  was  not  by  such  methods  that  they  were  seek- 
ing the  Abolition  of  Slavery.  (It  is  not  an  object  of 
the  Society  to  assist,  directly  or  indirectly,  in  the  ab- 


THE   ESCAPE.  283 

duction  of  slaves.)  The  proposals,  however,  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Concklin,  served  to  show  the  character  of 
the  man.  It  was  made  apparent  that  he  was  an  Abo- 
litionist on  his  own  account.  He  was  understood  to 
be  one  of  those  few  men  in  whom  the  hatred  of  slavery 
has  become  a  ruling  passion.  He  was  a  whole  Aboli- 
tion Society  in  himself;  with  very  limited  pecuniary 
means  indeed,  but  with  what  is  infinitely  better  than 
uncounted  gold,  a  single  and  commanding  purpose, 
which  danger  could  not  shake,  but  only  animate.  His 
subsequent  history,  and  all  that  was  afterwards  ascer- 
tained of  his  previous  life,  only  corroborated  the  im- 
pressions received  of  his  character  upon  the  occasions 
of  these  visits  to  the  Anti-Slavery  Office.  He  was  a 
man  whose  constitutional  love  of  adventure,  exercised 
from  early  boyhood  by  a  series  of  privations  and 
trials  that  would  have  broken  down  any  ordinary  man, 
had  come  to  be  consecrated  to  the  knightly  office  of 
succoring  the  miserable ;  and  especially  the  enslaved, 
as  of  all  men  the  most  to  be  commiserated.  In  con- 
trast with  his  tried  heroism,  the  wordy  chivalry  of 
the  South  shows  as  rags  and  tinsel. 

"As  soon  as  he  was  informed  of  the  condition  of 
Peter's  family,  he  offered,  with  the  help  of  a  small 
sum  to  defray  his  travelling  expenses,  to  go  to  Ala- 
bama, and  bring  them  into  the  free  State  of  Pennsyl- 
vania. He  asked  for  no  companion,  and  no  compen- 
sation ;  only  for  the  means  of  paying  the  expenses  of 
the  journey,  and  for  credentials  to  satisfy  Peter's  wife 
that  he  came  from  her  husband. 

"A  daring  enterprise,  indeed!  It  is  not  easy  to 
conceive  of  an  undertaking  more  hazardous,  or  one 
that  more  peremptorily  demanded,  in  him  who  should 


284          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

attempt  it,  all  the  qualities  that  give  the  world  assur- 
ance of  a  man. 

"  The  plantation  that  Seth  Conklin  was  to  reach  lay 
in  the  north-western  part  of  Alabama,  eight  hundred 
miles  from  Cincinnati.  He  was  to  traverse  two  slave 
States — Kentucky  and  Tennessee.  To  penetrate  thus 
deep  into  slave-land,  at  a  time  when  the  ferocity  and 
the  fear  that  guard  it  had  been  startled  from  their  long 
slumber  by  the  far-off  coming  of  the  step  of  doom,  for 
the  purpose  of  plucking  therefrom  a  poor  bondwoman 
and  her  children,  outdoes  all  the  fabled  feats  of  old 
knighthood. 

"  Our  hero  took  with  him  neither  pistol  nor  bowie- 
knife,  although  he  knew  how  to  use  them,  for,  as 
has  since  been  learned,  he  had  been  a  soldier.  '  He 
should  be  tempted  to  use  them,'  he  said,  '  and  then  he 
should  be  sure  to  be  overborne.' 

"  His  first  object  was  to  explore  the  route,  to  dis- 
cover safe  hiding-places,  and  to  ascertain  who  in  the 
border  free  States  would  be  willing  to  befriend  and 
aid  him,  when  he  should  have  succeeded — if  he  should 
succeed — in  escaping  with  his  protegees  from  the  slave 
States.  At  Cincinnati,  he  met  with  devoted  friends, 
who  appreciated  all  the  hazards  of  the  attempt.  But 
he  soon  ascertained  that  his  perils  would  be  far  from 
being  at  an  end  when  he  should  have  got,  on  his  re- 
turn, beyond  the  limits  of  Kentucky.  Indeed,  when 
he  entered  the  slave  States,  it  was  under  the  impres- 
sion that  the  chief  hazard  of  the  undertaking,  as  the 
result  most  fearfully  proved,  would  be  encountered  in 
the  bordering  free  States.  In  seeking  to  provide 
places  of  refuge  in  Illinois  and  Indiana,  he  found  the 
southern  boundaries  of  these  States,  free  as  they  claim 


THE  ESCAPE.  285 

to  be,  infested  with,  men  thirsting  for  the  rewards 
offered  to  those  who  are  willing  to  cast  aside  their 
humanity,  and  do  the  work  of  bloodhounds — hunting 
the  outcast,  and  seeking  and  dragging  back  the  fugi- 
tive. '  Searching  the  country  opposite  Paducah,  Ky., 
I  found,'  he  wrote,  in  a  letter  dated  Eastport.  Miss., 
Feb.  3d,  'the  whole  country,  fifty  miles  around,  is 
inhabited  by  Christian  wolves.  It  is  customary,  when 
a  strange  negro  is  seen,  for  any  white  man  to  seize 
him^  and  convey  him  through  and  out  of  the  State  of 
Illinois  to  Paducah,  and  lodge  such  stranger  in  Padu- 
cah jail,  and  then  claim  silch  reward  as  may  be  offered 
by  the  master.' 

"Failing  in  the  attempt  to  secure  friends  on  the 
borders  of  Illinois,  to  meet  him  upon  his  return,  yet, 
trusting,  nevertheless,  to  his  own  address,  and  to  a 
good  Providence,  he  crossed  to  Paducah,  and  took  a 
steamboat  on  the  Tennessee  river  for  South  Florence, 
the  final  point  of  his  journey.  This  was  a  little  town, 
four  hundred  miles  up  the  river,  containing  about 
twenty  families,  and  a  post-office,  but  no  school!" 

This  place  he  reached  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  Jan- 
uary, having  been  four  days  coming  up  the  Ten- 
nessee. 

Soon  after  his  arrival  at  South  Florence,  Concklin 
made  his  way  to  the  plantation  of  Mr.  McKiernan, 
and  succeeded  in  obtaining  an  interview  with  Vina. 
It  was  a  cold,  dark  night.  Trembling,  the  faithful 
wife  went  forth  from  her  cabin  to  the  place  where  it 
had  been  intimated  to  her  she  should  hear  from  her 
husband.  Every  few  steps  she  stopped  and  listened, 
for  fear  some  curious  neighbor  had  watched  her  exit, 


286          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

and  would  follow  her,  or — what  was  worse — report 
her  absence  to  the  overseer.  And  then  she  grew 
afraid  to  venture  forward,  lest  some  trap  were  laid  for 
her  unwary  feet. 

At  last,  however,  the  thought  of  Peter,  and  the 
hope  of  hearing  of  his  welfare,  conquered  all  her  fears, 
and  she  walked  on.  Soon  she  discerned  a  figure  at  a 
little  distance,  but  the  darkness  was  so  intense  that  she 
could  not  tell  whether  it  was  friend  or  foe.  She 
paused.  "Is  your  name  Vina?"  said  a  strange  voice. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  whispered. 

"  Are  you  Peter  Friedman's  wife  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I's  his  wife." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  go  to  him  ?" 

"I'd  like  it  mons's  well,  sir,  if  I  could  git  thar." 

"  Well,  I  have  come  on  purpose  to  take  you  to  see 
him.  Do  you  believe  me  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir." 

"  Can  you  see  me,  so  as  to  know  me  if  you  should 
meet  me  again  ?" 

"No,  sir,  it's  so  dark ;  I  can't  see  your  face  good." 

He  held  up  one  hand.     "  Do  you  see  my  hand-?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  if  you  see  me  again,  you  will  know  me  by 
that  hand.  Y"ou  see  that  half  the  forefinger  is  cut  off?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  believe  that  I  came  from  Peter?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir." 

He  drew  forth  from  his  pocket  the  gingham  cape 
which  Peter  had  given  him  as  a  sign.  She  could  see 
its  form,  and  she  recognized  it  in  a  moment.  That 
moment  her  doubts  of  his  sincerity  were  gone. 

Yet  she  hesitated.     She  well  knew  the  difficulties 


THE   ESCAPE.  287 

and  dangers  that  -would  attend  an  effort  to  escape; 
especially  when  a  family  of  four  should  make  the 
attempt  together ;  and  nothing  but  her  deep  love  for 
her  husband,  and  her  faith  in  his  discretion  could  have 
tempted  her  to  dare  it.  "  But,"  thought  she,  "  he  never 
would  'a'sent  a  man  'way  here  to  help  us  if  he  didn't 
think  we  mought  git  off.  Leastways  we'll  try.  He 
knows  best  what  we  can  do,  for  he's  done  took  the 
journey  twice." 

"  When  does  you  want  us  to  go  ?"  said  she  aloud. 

"Just  as  soon  as  you  can  get  ready.  How  long  will 
it  take  you,  do  you  think?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Sir.  I  don't  believe  we  could  git 
ready  short  o'  four  weeks." 

"  Well,  I  can  wait.  I  must  go  back  to  Louisville  to 
do  some  business  before  I  take  you  on.  But  I  want 
first  to  see  the  boys,  where  are  they  ?" 

"Oh,  they're  off  on  the  Island,  they  won't  come 
home  'fore  Saturday  night." 

"  Well,  you  tell  them  to  come  down  to  the  land- 
ing on  Sunday.  I  will  be  there  walking  about,  and 
if  I  see  two  young  men,  I  will  keep  this  hand  in 
sight.  You  describe  it  to  them,  that  they  will  know 
me.  Now,  good  bye.  Don't  be  afraid.  I  will  do  all 
I  can  for  you,  but  you  must  help  yourselves." 

Vina  returned  to  her  cabin.'  Her  heart  was  full. 
One  moment  the  hope  was  strong  within  her  that  they 
should  all  escape  in  safety.  She  saw  the  face  of  her 
husband,  she  listened  to  his  voice ;  again  she  heard  the 
fierce  pursuer  on  her  track,  and  felt  herself  dragged 
back  to  meet  a  tenfold  darker  doom  than  she  had  yet 
encountered.  " I couldri  Uar"  she  says,  "the  idea  of 
totin'  a  scabby  back  from  one  year  to  another,  and  some- 


288         THE    KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   HANSOMED. 

times,  'peard  like  I  couldn't  tell  whether  to  go  or  not. 
One  mind  say,  yes,  and  t'other  mind  say,  no,  but  at 
last  I  des'  thought  I  -would  sfart,  any  how,  whether  I 
prevailed  or  not. 

The  next  Sunday,  Peter  and  Levin  walked  down 
towards  the  river,  and  when  about  half-way  to  tho 
landing,  they  met  a  stranger.  He  wore  an  old  pair  of 
low  quarter  shoes  without  stockings,  and  his  pantaloons 
were  rplled  up  half-way  to  the  knee.  Altogether  his 
appearance  was  that  of  the  "  poor  white  men,"  who 
inhabit  the  mountainous  districts  back  of  the  rich  plan- 
tations. As  he  approached  they  noticed  the  mutilated 
finger,  but  they  did  not  speak,  they  would  not  appear 
too  hasty. 

The  stranger  stopped.  "  Do  you  know  me  ?"  said  he. 

"No,  Sir." 

"Did  you  ever  see  me^  before  ?" 

"No,  Sir." 

"  Your  name  is  Peter,  is  it  not?"  said  he,  addressing 
the  oldest. 

"Yes,  Sir." 

"  And  yours  is  Levin  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sir,  but  how  did  you  know  it  ?" 

"  I  know  you  by  your  resemblance  to  your  father." 

"  Where  did  you  see  our  father  ?" 

"  I  saw  him  only  once,  in  Philadelphia." 

They  then  turned  aside  into  the  woods,  and  there, 
seated  upon  a  log,  they  held  a  long  consultation  con- 
cerning the  best  means  of  escape.  Concklin  told  them 
all  his  plans,  and  listened  patiently  to  their  suggestions, 
and  then,  lest  some  wanderer  in  the  woods  should  dis- 
cover them  in  council,  they  separated. 

The  next  Wednesday  the  stranger  left  the  neighbor- 


THE   ESCAPE.  289 

hood  on  board  the  boat  for  Louisville.  On  the  same 
boat  Mr.  McKiernan  started  for  his  usual  annual  visit  to 
New  Orleans ;  but  as  Concklin  appeared  in  humble  garb, 
and  neither  drank  nor  gambled,  he  came  into  no  contact 
with  the  planter. 

This  trip  down  the  Tennessee  confirmed  Concklin  in 
the  opinion  he  had  already  formed — that  it  would  be 
unsafe  to  depend  upon  escaping  with  his  poor  helpless 
friends  upon  a  steamboat  He  procured  a  skiff,  and 
early  in  March  he  returned,  having  made  all  possible 
'arrangements  for  their  speedy  transport  beyond  the 
bounds  oi  slavery's  domain. 

For  two  weeks  he  was  obliged  to  wait  for  them  to 
complete  their  preparations,  or  rather,  for  an  opportunity 
for  the  whole  family  to  leave  the  place  without  exciting 
suspicion.  At  last,  on  Saturday  night,  the  boys  ob- 
tained of  the  overseer  passes  to  go  to  South  Florence 
on  Sunday,  to  buy  sugar  and  coffee  for  their  mother. 
Vina  and  her  daughter  also  procured  passes  to  go  to 
Mrs.  Jackson's,  a  few  miles  distant,  where  they  were 
to  remain  until  the  boys  returned.  They  asked  for  the 
passes  at  night  in  order,  as  they  said,  that  they  might 
start  soon  in  the  morning,  and  get  to  Mrs.  Jackson's 
before  breakfast. 

"When  all  was  still  throughout  the  quarter — and  "  it 
seemed  that  night  as  though  some  of  the  people  never 
would  go  to  bed,"  the  little  family  went  out  into  the 
night.  Vina  locked  the  door,  and  gave  the  key  to  a 
young  girl  named  Susanna,  desiring  her  to  go  in  and 
prepare  supper  for  them  the  next  evening. 

The  mother  and  her  children  walked  away  in  silence, 
and  at  first  with  stealthy  steps.  Their  hearts  quaked 
with  fear,  but  they  had  gone  too  far  to  recede.  Chok- 
13 


290          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

ing  down^  the  sobs  that  strove  to  break  the  midnight 
silence,  they  pressed  each  other's  hands  to  renew  their 
courage,  and  hastened  on. 

The  clear  sky  hovered  lovingly  over  the  trembling 
fugitives,  the  stars,  all  silent,  shone  upon  their  path- 
way ;  but  they  saw  neither  sky  nor  stars,  one  faint  dim 
hope  beamed  on  them  from  afar,  but  the  thick  clouds 
of  terror  often  obscured  its  light. 

With  timid  steps  they  approached  the  river,  and 
walking  along  the  bank,  they  soon  descried  the  skiff. 
Levin  whistled.  No  answer.  Could  it  be  that  Conck- 
lin  had  disappointed  them  ? 

They  turned  and  walked  down  the  stream  thinking 
perhaps  he  had  gone  in  search  of  them.  "Thar!"  said 
the  mother,  "this  yer  jaunt's  a  gwine  to  turn  out  bad, 
for  nobody  has  good  luck  when  they  turns  back  after 
they's  started  on  a  long  journey."  Failing  to  perceive 
the  object  of  their  search  in  this  direction,  they  returned 
to  the  skiff,  and  stooping  down,  saw  Concklin  lying 
fast  asleep  in  the  bottom.  He  had  waited  for  them  till 
he  was  weary,  and  Levin's  timid  whistle  had  failed  to 
waken  him  from  his  first  sound  slumber. 

It  was  now  nearly  three  o'clock,  and  entering  the 
skiff,  they  hastened  off.  The  two  boys,  as  well  as 
Conklin,  knew  how  to  use  the  oars  with  skill  and 
power,  and  they  fairly  flew  over  the  water. 

At  daylight  they  passed  Eastport,  distant  about  forty 
miles  from  Bainbridge  Landing.  Just  below  that  town 
they  met  a  steamboat,  but  by  the  direction  of  a  kind 
Providence,  she  kept  on  the  south  side  of  a  small 
island  in  the  river,  while  Concklin  guided  his  skiff 
towards  the  north  bank,  and  thus  they  escaped  the 
notice  of  the  crew.  Upon  that  boat  was  Mr.  McKier- 


THE  ESCAPE.  291 

nan,  then  on  his  return  from  Louisiana ;  and  had  the 
skiff  been  noticed,  he  might  easily  have  recognized 
the  two  boys,  who  were  both  at  the  oars. 

"During  Sunday,"  wrote  Concklin  to  a  friend,  "we 
were  hailed  once  by  half  a  dozen  men  on  shore,  to 
know  where  we  were  from,  where  going,  &c.  There 
being  a  strong  head- wind,  I  appeared  as  if  I  could  not 
hear  them.  I  know  not  what  they  would  have  done 
if  they  had  had  a  good  skiff.  Several  parties  of  men 
gazed  at  us  along  the  river.  I  had  previously  informed 
myself  of  the  scarcity  of  good  skiffs  on  the  Tennessee 
river,  on  which  thing  alone  rested  a  part  of  my  safety. 
I  stood  at  the  helm  whenever  we  were  in  sight  of  any- 
body, keeping  Levin  and  Peter  at  the  oars.  At  all 
other  times,  and  during  the  nights,  I  was  principally  at 
the  oars.  In  the  daytime  I  caused  Yina  and  Catharine 
to  lie  under  the  blankets,  so  as  not  to  be  seen.  They 
had  a  hard 'time  of  it.  Having  a  strong  head- wind,  the 
water  dashed  into  the  boat,  so  as  to  keep  the  blankets 
all  the  time  wet.  Peter  and  Levin  got  sleepy  Sunday 
evening,  and  were  so  by  times  all  the  way  through. 

"  At  five  o'clock,  Monday  evening,  for  the  first  time, 
I  lay  down  under  a  blanket,  when  the  boys  said  two 
men  were  calling  to  us  in  a  skiff,  near  the  shore,  and 
coming  towards  us.  I  ordered  that  no  effort  should 
be  made  to  run.  The  two  men  came  alongside,  eagerly 
demanding  where  they  were  going,  and  '  whar  from  ? 
Are  you  all  black  men  a'board?'  My  boys  replied  in 
Southern  phrase,  '  "White  Massa  lyin'  thar,.  sir.'  When 
I  arose  on  my  knees,  partly  throwing  off  my  blanket, 
and  staring  my  assailants  in  the  face,  they  bowed,  with 
'  How  de  do,  sir.'  I  returned  the  compliment.  They 
demanded  where  I  was  going,  and  from  whence  I  came. 


292          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

I  dignifiedly  replied,  '  To  Paducah,  and  from  Eastport.' 
They  bowed,  gave  my  boat  a  scrutinizing  look,  and 
retired. 

"  During  Monday  night  a  squall  of  wind  came  near 
dashing  our  craft  to  pieces  against  the  large  trees,  but 
by  good  management  I  succeeded  in  getting  between 
the  trees  to  the  shore,  and  there  remained  one  hour 
before  we  could  start.  Arrived  on  the  Ohio  at  sunrise 
Tuesday  morning — fifty-one  hours  time.  It  should 
have  been  done,  under  favorable  circumstances  in 
thirty-six  hours.  The  current  of  the  Tennessee  is  very 
stiff.  On  the  Ohio  I  intended  to  travel  exclusively 
at  nights.  Circumstances  were  against  me,  and  I  was 
compelled  to  travel  as  much  by  day  as  by  night.  One 
half  of  two  nights  it  was  so  dark,  that  I  could  not 
navigate.  My  crew  murmured  in  consequence  of  the 
hardships.  They  did  not  seem  to  understand  that  they 
were  to  work  for  themselves  and  for  their  lives.  I  had 
no  fair  wind  from  the  time  I  started  till  I  arrived  at 
Harmony.  It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the 
difficulties  I  have  encountered." 

At  ten  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning  March  23d,  they 
landed  at  New  Harmony,  la.  Seven  days  they  had 
rowed  in  that  frail  skiff,  exposed  each  moment  to  the 
danger  of  discovery  and  seizure  by  some  one  of  Slavery's 
numerous  spies.  Seven  nights  had  chilled  their  limbs, 
and  well  nigh  exhausted  their  energies,  both  of  mind 
and  body,  for  except  the  mother,  they  were  all  unused 
to  patient  labors.  Theirs  had  been  years  of  toil  without 
an  object,  and  they  were  at  this  time  scarcely  capable 
of  self-imposed  endurance  of  fatigue. 

Now,  although  their  feet  pressed  the  soil  of  a  Free 
State,  their  perils  were  not  passed,  and  they  pursued 


THE   ESCAPE.  293 

their  way  on  foot  towards  the  North  with  anxious 
hearts. 

Concklin,  who  had  assumed  the  name  of  Miller,  had 
doffed  the  shabby  garb  which  he  had  worn  before,  and 
now  appeared  neatly  and  comfortably  clad.  The  boys 
wore  pants  of  Kentucky  jean  and  black  cloth  coats, 
while  Vina  and  her  daughter  in  their  plaid  shawls  and 
comfortable  hoods  would  scarcely  have  been  recog- 
nized, even  by  those  who  had  often  seen  them  at  their 
labor,  as  field  hands  from  McKiernan's  place. 

All  day  they  -travelled  on  the  public  road ;  and 
though  they  "  met  a  heap  of  people,"  they  were  not 
questioned.  There  was  nothing,  indeed,  in  their  ap- 
pearance to  excite  remark,  except  that  they  were  dark 
in  hue  and  journeying  towards  the  North.  At  night 
they  reached  the  house  of  a  friend,  where  they  were 
received  most  kindly.  A  bountiful  supper  was  quickly 
prepared  for  them,  and  they  soon  lay  down  to  peace- 
ful slumbers.  All  the  next  day,  too,  they  rested,  for 
in  their  future  journeyings,  it  was  deemed  wisest  to 
accept  the  friendly  guidance  of  the  stars. 

After  supper  on  Monday  night  came  another  friend 
to  carry  them  northward  to  his  home.  He  brought 
two  horses  which  the  women  rode ;  while  himself  and 
Concklin,  with  the  two  re-animated  brothers,  walked 
beside  them.  At  three  o'clock  on  Tuesday  morning 
they  reached  their  second  resting  place,  where  they 
remained  till  Wednesday  night.  They  then  resumed 
their  journey,  and  travelled  all  night  on  foot.  Cheer- 
fully they  walked  along,  for  every  hour  their  hope 
became  stronger  as  their  old  master's  success  in  over- 
taking them  grew  more  and  more  improbable.  At 
late  breakfast  time  on  Thursday  they  reached  another 


294        THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

station,  where  they  rested  till  Friday  morning.  They 
were  then  so  far  from  the  river  that  Concklin  thought 
they  might  venture  to  travel  in  the  day-time,  so  he 
proposed  to  continue  their  journey.  But  Vina  had 
awaked  that  morning  with  a  burdened  spirit.  She 
"  had  bad  dreams  all  night,"  and  she  feared  to  start  by 
daylight.  "Tears  like,"  said  she,  "something  will 
happen  if  we  starts  to-day.  You  can  do  as  you  likes, 
sir,  but  if  I  was  you,  I'd  put  off  this  yer  jaunt  till 
night.  Tears  like  'taint  safe,  no  how."  But  Concklin 
was  naturally  hopeful  and  bold,  and  the  presentiments 
of  the  ignorant  slave  woman  he  regarded  as  mere  idle 
superstition.  They  were  so  nearly  out  of  danger,  that 
he  felt  extremely  anxious  to  push  on. 

Vina  started  with  reluctance.  The  kind  friend  at 
whose  house  they  were,  lent  her  a  horse  for  a  few 
miles,  and  sent  his  son  to  ride  the  animal  back.  Soon 
the  rain  began  to  fall,  and  all  day  long  "it  rained 
constant."  All  day,  too,  they  journeyed  on,  for  they 
dared  not  stop  where  they  were  not  sure  of  finding 
friends. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  as  with  dripping  umbrellas 
and  weary  feet  they  walked  along,  a  spotted  horse 
which  had  escaped  from  a  field  by  the  road  side,  came 
galloping  before  them.  His  owner  called  upon  the 
travellers  to  stop  him,  but  Vina,  in  a  low  tone,  bade 
the  boys  go  on.  Peter,  however,  naturally  obliging, 
caught  the  horse,  and  delivered  him  to  his  owner.  A 
little  further  on  they  passed  a  saw-mill,  in  front  of 
which  a  large  man  stood  gazing  at  the  little  company. 
"How  d'y',  Aunt  Lucy,"  cried  he,  "which  way  are 
you  travelling?"  No  answer  was  given  as  they  hastened 
on,  but  their  hearts  beat  quick  with  fear. 


THE   ESCAPE.  295 

Just  before  niglit  they  approached  the  dwelling  of 
the  friend  where  they  were  next  to  rest.  His  son 
lived  in  a  small  house  close  by,  and  here  Concklin  bade 
them  "  run  in  out  of  the  rain,"  while  he  went  on  to 
the  main  station  to  announce  their  coming. 

They  obeyed,  and  soon  they  were  all  seated  beside 
a  cheerful  fire.  The  bright  blaze  imparted  new  life  to 
their  chilled  and  weary  limbs ;  and  from  their  hearts 
ascended  a  silent  thanksgiving  to  Him  who  had 
brought  them  safely  to  the  end  of  this  day's  journey, 

when  suddenly  the  sound  of  many  horses'  feet  was 

heard. 


• 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 
THK    CAPTURE. 

ONE  glance  at  the  window  sent  a  shudder  through 
the  little  party — for  there,  halting  at  the  gate,  were 
seven  men  on  horseback. 

"  They  done  come  after  us  ;"  hoarsely  whispered  one 
of  the  boys. 

"  Yes,"  answered  their  mother,  "  I'll  lay  anything 
we're  gwine  to  be  tooken  now." 

The  men  dismounted  and  tied  their  horses  to  the 
fence.  Foremost  was  the  owner  of  the  spotted  horse, 
upon  the  very  annual  which  Peter  had  delivered  into 
his  hand,  and  next  was  he  who  had  accosted  "Aunt 
Isucy"  but  an  hour  or  two  before. 

What  to  do  the  helpless  creatures  did  not  know. 
Concklin  was  away.  Oh !  why  did  he  leave  them  ? 
The  house  was  small,  and  the  only  place  of  egress 
they  could  discover  was  the  door  by  which  they  had 
just  entered,  and  this  their  foes  were  even  then  ap- 
proaching. They  saw  no  place  to  hide,  and  the  young 
man  and  woman,  whose  house  they  had  so  recently 
entered,  stood  petrified  with  amazement,  and  gazed 
upon  the  scene. 

The  seven  men  entered  the  little  dwelling.  Three  or 
four  of  them  remained  near  the  door,  while  the  others 
advanced  into  the  middle  of  the  room  and  opened  a 


THE  CAPTURE.  297 

conversation  with  the  boys.  The  heart  beat  wildly 
beneath  each  dark-hued  breast,  but  they  strove  to  look 
indifferent  while  they  replied  to  the  questioners  as 
they  had  been  previously  instructed. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?" 

"  To  Springfield,  Sir." 

"  Do  you  belong  to  the  man  that  brought  you  here  ?" 

"Yes,  Sir." 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  From  Kaintucky,  Sir.  Mass'r  died  last  year,  and 
left  us  to  his  brother,  and  now  he's  a  takin'  us  on  to 
his  farm." 

"  What  did  he  bring  you  through  here  for  ?  Did  n't 
he  know  that  it  was  against  the  law  ?" 

"  Don't  know,  Sir,  reckon  he  'lowed  'twas  right." 

"  I'll  be  d — d  if  I  don't  believe  he  stole  you  all." 

The  brave  seven  then  stood  aside  and  consulted  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  then  one  of  their  number  went  out. 
Soon  he  returned  with  a  half-gallon  jug  of  liquor,  and 
a  wagon.  The  besieging  party  then  took  a  drink  all 
round  to  raise  their  courage.  They  offered,  too,  to 
treat  Levin  and  Peter,  but  the  boys  declined  the  honor. 

Another  brief  consultation  was  held,  and  then,  pro- 
ducing ropes,  these  zealous  priests  of  the  Moloch  of 
Slavery,  proceeded  to  bind  their  victims  for  the  sacri- 
fice. How  the  boys  longed  to  resist ! — but  they  were 
all  unarmed,  while  their  assailants  carried  both  bowie- 
knives  and  pistols.  Besides,  their  host,  who  stood 
silent  by,  would,  for  aught  they  knew,  join  with  their 
enemies  against  them.  It  would  be  idle  to  attempt  to 
fight  against  such  fearful  odds ;  so  they  stood  still  while 
their  hands  were  tied  behind  them,  and  then,  obeying 
18* 


298         THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EANSOMED. 

the  orders  of  the  foreman  of  the  band,  they  climbed 
into  the  wagon. 

.  The  women  followed  in  silence.  Despair  was  writ- 
ten on  their  faces,  but  their  captors  had  no  pity  for  their 
helpless  woe.  The  coarse  jest,  and  the  blasphemous 
oath  went  round,  while  now  and  then  a  burst  of  bois- 
terous laughter  came  from  the  "  law-abiding"  band  that 
guarded  their  return  towards  the  "land  of  chivalry." 

When  they  had  proceeded  a  short  distance,  Conck- 
lin  came  running  after  them.  Oh  !  that  he  had  never 
left  them  !  then  had  they  been  safe.  He  sprang  into 
the  wagon,  and  commenced  untying  the  captives.  But 
he  was  soon  discovered  by  the  ruffians  in  attendance, 
who,  pointing  their  pistols  at  his  head,  swore  that  they 
would  blow  out  his  brains  if  he  did  not  desist. 

He  remained  in  the  wagon,  however,  until  they 
reached  the  jail  at  Yincennes.  It  was  very  late.  The 
lights  were  extinguished  in  all  the  houses,  and  the 
jailor  was  asleep.  "  Ho !  Hallo  1"  cried  the  leader  of 
the  band. 

The  jailor  at  length  appeared. 

"  Do  you  want  some  more  stock  ?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  that  depends  on  what  sort  it  is." 

"  Well,  its  a  sort  you've  not  had  here  lately.  Take 
them  in ;  they're  tired,  and  want  to  go  to  bed." 

The  jailor  held  up  his  light  and  took  a  survey  of  the 
captives.  "Well,"  said  he,  "if  they're  tired,  I  don't 
think  they're  sleepy;  say,  are  you  sleepy,  old  woman  ?" 

"  No,  Sir,"  replied  Yina,  "I  don't  feel  like  sleepin'." 

"So  I  thought ;  I  should'nt  if  I  were  in  your 
place." 

After  some  further  conversation  with  the  chief  of 


THE   CAPTUEE.  299 

the  band,  lie  took  the  prisoners  in  and  locked  them  up. 
"  But  he  acted,"  Vina  says,  "like  he  felt  mighty  sorry 
for  us ;  and  I  believe,  if  we  had'nt  been  watched  so 
close,  he  mought  'a'  let  us  go." 

In  the  jail  they  were  visited  every  day  by  Concklin, 
who  came  and  talked  with  them  through  the  window ; 
and  daily  Vina  begged  him  to  leave  them  there  and 
seek  his  own  safety.  "  Now  you  can't  do  us  no  good, 
Sir,  no  how,  and  'pears  like  you  best  take  care  o'you- 
self." 

"  Oh,"  replied  he,  "  I  don't  feel  at  all  uneasy." 

"Well,  Sir,  I  feels  oneasy  about  you,  and  you  best 
not  stay  round  yer  no  longer.  It  wont  make  it  no 
better  for  us,  and  you'll  git  into  trouble,  sure." 

But  some  dream  of  rescuing  them  haunted  his  mind ; 
he  could  not  bear  to  leave  them.  It  was  something 
new  for  him  to  be  foiled  in  any  undertaking ;  and  he 
had  set  his  heart  upon  delivering  this  family  to  the 
husband  and  father,  who  he  knew  was  waiting,  with 
trembling  heart,  to  welcome  them. 

Immediately  after  lodging  them  in  jail,  the  chief  of 
the  marauding  band  had  telegraphed  in  all  directions 
to  ascertain  if  four  negroes,  answering  the  description 
of  these  had  anywhere  been  missed ;  and  also  what 
reward  was  offered  for  their  capture.  The  "  lightning 
postboy"  hasted  to  execute  their  mission,  and  soon 
returned  them  answer.  "Four  likely  negroes  had 
been  stolen  from  Bernard  McKiernan,  near  South  Flor- 
ence, Ala.,  and  their  owner  had  offered  a  reward  of 
four  hundred  dollars  for  the  property,  and  six  hundred 
for  the  apprehension  of  the -thief,  and  his  delivery  in 
South  Florence." 


300          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EANSOMED. 

Upon  the  receipt  of  this  information,  Concklin  was 
seized,  and  thrust  into  prison.  Still  his  brave  hope- 
ful spirit  bore  him  up — "  'peared  like  he  couldn't  feel 
discouraged." 

It  was  night ;  and  night  in  prison  is  never  lovely. 
Catharine  and  her  brothers  were  asleep,  but  Vina's 
eyes  closed  not.  Her  thoughts  were  busy  picturing  the 
sorrows  to  which  they  were  returning,  the  tortures 
that  awaited  them,  and"  all  the  hopelessness  of  their 
future  li ves.  Never  more  should  the  voice  of  her 
husband  greet  her  ear — never  more  should  his  smiles 
gladden  her  heart.  And  her  children — henceforth 
they  would  be  branded  as  runaways,  and  thus  exposed 
to  grievous  ills,  to  which,  thus  far,  they  had  been 
strangers.  No  one  would  trust  them  now. 

Suddenly  she  started.  "Wheels  approached,  and 
stopped  in  front  of  the  jail.  Did  she  know  that  voice? 
Yes,  she  could  not  be  mistaken. 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  in.  I  would  like  to  see 
them." 

She  heard  the  jailor  in  reply,  and  soon  footsteps  ap- 
proached their  cell.  Vina  roused  her  children.  "  We'll 
git  toted  back  now.  Old  McKiernan's  a  comin.'  He's 
a  talkin'  out  yer." 

Soon  the  key  turned  in  the  lock,  and  the  jailor 
entered  with  a  light,  followed  by  a  stranger,  and  the 
"old  master."  His  cane  was  in  his  hand — his  face 
looked  redder  than  usual,  and  his  eyes  hastily  searched 
every  part  of  the  room.  He  approached  the  bed  on 
which  his  slaves  were  still  lying,  and  for  a  moment 
looked  down  on  them  in  silence. 

"  Ha !  boy,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?"  said  he  to 
Peter, 


THE   CAPTUEE.  301 

No  answer. 

"  Speak !  you  rascal,  or  I'll  knock  you  in  the  head 
with  this  stick.  Don't  you  know  me?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Aint  I  your  old  master  ?" 

Eeluctantly  Peter  answered,  "  Yes,  sir." 

"Didn't  I  raise  you  all?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  d — n  you,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"  Don't  know,  sir." 

"Don't  know!  I'll  make  you  tell  a  different  tale 
from  that  when  I  get  you  home.  You,  Levin,  don't 
you  think  this  is  a  devil  of  a  caper?" 

Levin  was  silent,  and  the  master  turned  to  his  mo- 
ther. "  See  here,  girl,  how  came  you  to  leave  home  ?" 

No  answer. 

"Aint  it  d — d  astonishing  you  all  can't  answer 
when  you're  spoken  to?" 

Still  no  answer  came,  and  he  turned  to  his  com- 
panion. "Ah,  that  huzzy!  she's  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  her,  and  that  rascal  Peter, 
they  never  would  have  left  me  in  the  world." 

"  What  Peter  is  that?"  asked  the  man. 

"Why,  he  is  this  girl's  husband.  He  got  in  with  a 
Jew,  and  persuaded  him  to  buy  him ;  and  a  few  months 
after  that  Peter  bought  himself.  This  scrape  was  in 
the  bargain  at  first,  I'm  certain." 

"  Where  are  this  Peter  and  his  master  now  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  exactly — but  if  they  ever  show  their 
heads  in  Tuscumbia  again,  I'll  have  them  hung  sky- 
high.  Peter  is  at  the  bottom  of  this ;  but  he  never  had 
sense  to  do  it  alone — he's  had  help,  I'll  swear.  Some 
d — d  abolitionist  has  had  a  hand  in  it.  I  believe  there's 


302          THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  TUB  EANSOMED. 

some  of  tliem  in  Franklin  county,  and  if  I  can  hunt 
them  out,  they  shall  be  burnt,  or  I'll  have  their  heads 
—one." 

He  then  proceeded  to  question  the  family  concern- 
ing their  escape ;  and  to  shield  Concklin,  they  told  a 
story  which  they  had  previously  prepared  for  an  emer- 
gency like  this.  They  declared  that  Concklin,  or  as 
they  called  him,  Miller,  did  not  bring  them  away  at 
first,  but  that  four  persons  took  them,  and  delivered 
them  up  to  him.  Who  these  persons  were,  they  could 
not  tell ;  but  they  described  "  some  sort  o1  men  that  they 
had  never  seen."  "  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  master,  "  d — n 
them,  Pve  seen  four  such  looking  fellows  in  Tuscurribia." 

After  a  while  he  left  them,  and  went  into  the  next 
room,  where  Concklin  was  confined.  There  they 
heard  his  voice  for  a  long  time ;  at  first  in  moderate 
tones,  but  when  his  passion  rose,  his  words  could 
easily  be  distinguished.  "It's  d — d  astonishing  that 
you  won't  tell  who  started  you  in  this  business. 
Would  you  be  such  a  fool  as  to  be  carried  back  in 
irons,  and  lose  your  life  for  the  sake  of  saving  other 
people  ?" 

"  It  is  of  no  use  for  you  to  question  me  about  them," 
replied  Concklin.  "  You  have  me  now,  and  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  bring  other  people  into  trouble." 

"Well,  d — n  you,  how  do  you  feel  in  them  irons?" 

"  I  suppose  I  feel  better  than  you  will  at  some  future 
day  in  consequence  of  causing  them  to  be  put  on  me." 

"How  is  that?" 

"You  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  find  out." 

Finding  that  he  could  get  no  satisfactory  answer 
from  the  "  thief"  he  returned  to  the  room  where  his 
property  was  confined.  Here  he  remained  about  an 


THE  CAPTURE.  303 

hour,  alternately  cursing  and  asking  questions ;  but  he 
could  not  make  them  tell  who  started  them  on  their 
way.  At  last  he  left  them  and  went  out. 

Early  in  the  morning,  he  returned,  and  ordered 
them  to  get  ready  to  go  home.  They  rose  immediately, 
but  were  scarcely  ready  when  the  stage  came  to  the 
door. 

After  they  were  seated  in  the  coach,  Concklin  was 
brought  out  in  irons,  and  put  in  with  them.  He  still 
looked  brave  and  cheerful ;  but  the  slaves,  alas !  there 
was  no  light  in  their  downcast  eyes — no  hope  in  their 
disappointed  hearts. 

When  the  stage  stopped  to  change  horses,  they 
alighted  to  take  breakfast.  They  all  sat  down  to- 
gether, but  only  the  master  and  his  companion*  had 
appetites  for  food.  Yina  only  drank  a  cup  of  coffee, 
and  the  boys  ate  very  little. 

"  Why  don't  you  eat,  girl?"  demanded  the  master. 

"  I  don't  keer  'bout  eatin',"  she  replied. 

"Well,  if  you  all  had  staid  at  home,  you'd  been  able 
to  eat." 

They  were  soon  re-seated  in  the  stage,  and  none  of 
them  left  it  again  till  after  dark,  when  they  reached 
Evansville.  Here  they  spoke  of  putting  the  captives 
into  jail  for  safe  keeping;  but  it  was  whispered  that  if 
they  did  so  they  might  not  find  them  in  the  morning  ; 
and  at  last  they  took  them  to  a  private  house,  where, 
after  giving  them  their  supper,  they  locked  them  up 
all  together  in  a  room  in  the  second  story.  The  mas- 
ter of  the  house,  who,  they  understood  was  a  brother- 
in-law  of  their  master's  escort,  sat  all  night  on  the 
stairs  to  watch  them. 

*  Emison.    See  Memoir  of  Concklin. 


304          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

Concklin  had  now  become  alarmed,  and  during  the 
night  he  was  much  excited.  He  tried  the  windows  of 
the  room,  and  was  about  to  jump  from  one  of  them, 
when  Yina  interposed.  "Oh!"  said  she,  "don't  go 
out  thar'.  You'll  be  dashed  to  pieces,  sir,  jumpin'  out 
o'  that  ar  high  winder.  Oh!  if  you  had  tuck  my 
advice,  and  run  off  when  they  first  cotch  us,  you'd  'a' 
been  safe  now,  and  it  would  n't  'a'  been  no  worse  for 
us." 

This  was  a  gloomy  night.  None  of  the  prisoners 
felt  inclined  to  sleep.  Liberty — the  precious  goal 
which  they  had  almost  grasped,  was  now  beyond  their 
reach — forever  lost.  "  Well  chillern,"  said  the  mother, 
"  you  all 's  got  to  cotch  it  now.  You  wont  be  the  best 
hands  on  the  place  no  more,  and  everything  'at's  done 
wrong  '11  be  laid  to  you.  But  it  can't  be  hoped — we's 
done  the  best  we  could,  and  now  the  Lord's  all  the 
friend  we  got." 

Morning  dawned  at  last,  and  after  an  early  break- 
fast, Mr.  McKiernan  came  with  his  attendant,  Emison, 
to  conduct  them  to  the  boat. 

How  the  sinews  of  Levin  and  Peter  ached  for  a 
race  !  If  their  mother  and  sister  had  been  safe,  would 
they  have  walked  quietly  down  to  the  river,  on  whose 
bosom  they  were  to  be  borne  back  to  slavery  ?  No, 
no — they  would  at  least  have  made  one  desperate  effort 
to  escape.  But  they  could  not  desert  those  who  were 
so  dear  to  them ;  and  so  they  meekly  followed  their  old 
master,  while  they  knew  his  footsteps  led  to  the  scene 
of  cruel  torture — perhaps  even  to  death. 

Once  on  board  the  boat — the  "  Paul  Anderson,"  the 
negroes  were  deemed  safe;  still,  whenever  the  boat 
landed  they  were  closely  watched.  Concklin  was  kept 


THE   CAPTUKE.  305 

confined  in  a  state-room,  where  his  poor  friends  had 
no  chance  to  speak  to  him.  They  lay  at  night  upon 
the  cabin  floor,  and  the  young  people  slept.  Their 
mother,  too,  several  times  grew  drowsy,  but  the  horrid 
dreams  that  came  soon  frightened  sleep  away.  She 
heard  every  footstep ;  and  towards  morning,  they  were 
all  aroused  by  people  hurrying  to  and  fro  with  lights, 
and  calling  to  each  other  in  every  direction.  The 
master  came  to  Vina.  "  Where  are  the  boys?"  said 
he. 

"  Yon  they  lie,  sir." 

"  "Well,  that  rascal's  gone." 

"  Is  he  ?"  Such  was  her  only  answer ;  but  her  heart 
beat  quick  with  the  hope  that  he  had  by  some  means, 
escaped  in  safety.  The  boat  was  searched  in  every 
part,  but  no  trace  of  him  was  found. 

Early  in  the  morning,  Mr.  McKiernan,  with  his 
property,  landed  at  Paducah,  to  wait  for  the  "Greek 
Slave,"  which  was  expected  to  pass  that  day  on  her 
home  trip  from  Louisville. 

The  mistress  of  the  hotel  where  they  stopped,  took 
a  great  interest  in  the  returning  fugitives,  and  begged 
Mr.  McKiernan  to  sell  her  the  old  woman  and  her 
daughter.  He  did  "not,  however,  seem  anxious  to  dis- 
pose of  them. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  live  with  me  ?"  said  the 
lady  herself  to  Vina. 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am;  you  mought  be  hard  to 
please.  I've  had  one  hard  missus,  and  I  don't  care 
'bout  changin'  for  a  worse  one." 

"  Well,"  said  the  lady,  "  I  give  you  my  word,  I 
would  be  kind  to  you.  You  may  ask  any  of  my  serv- 
ants if  I  am  hard  to  be  suited." 


306          THE  'KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

But  the  old  master  listened  with  impatience  to  all 
her  arguments.  "  I  raised  this  family  myself,"  said  he, 
"  and  even  if  there  is  danger  of  their  running  off  again, 
I  may  as  well  hold  bad  property  as  anybody  else." 

Such  was  his  usual  feeling  whenever  any  one  pro- 
posed to  purchase  one  of  his  people.  He  disliked  to 
part  with  them ;  not  because  he  loved  them — for  we 
have  seen  that  his  heart  knew  no  pity  for  their  suffer- 
ings ;  but  they  were  his,  and  he  would  rather  buy  than 
sell. 

At  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  "  Greek 
Slave"  appeared,  and  the  melancholy  company  were 
soon  ascending  the  Tennessee.  The  lonely  quiet  banks 
looked  gloomy  to  them  now,  notwithstanding  the  trees 
were  clothed  in  their  freshest  green,  and  wild  flowers 
of  every  form  and  hue  were  nodding  to  their  lovely 
images  in  the  bright  water.  There'  was  no  Spring-time 
in  their  hearts.  Darkness,  like  the  shadow  of  Death, 
hung  over  their  spirits,  while  the  bright  sunshine  and 
the  glad  notes  of  a  thousand  birds  but  mocked  their 
misery. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 
PETER  PLANS   TO  REDEEM  HIS   FAMILY. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Concklin  left  Philadelphia,  Peter  re- 
turned to  his  mother's  house,  and  there  remained,  rest- 
less and  anxious,  for  many  weeks.  At  last  his  brother 
William,  who  had  received  a  letter  from  Concklin, 
dated  Princeton,  la.,  March  24th,  wrote  to  him  that 
his  family  had  arrived  in  a  Free  State.  Immediately 
he  hastened  to  Philadelphia,  his  heart  swelling  with 
the  hope  of  soon  embracing  them ;  but  the  day  after 
his  arrival,  alas !  these  glorious  visions  of  approaching 
joy  suddenly  faded  away. 

"  0,  Peter,  said  his  sister  Mary,  as  he  entered  the 
room  where  she  was  sitting,  "have  you  heard  the 
news  ?" 

He  noticed  that  her  voice  trembled,  and  that  her 
eyes  were  filled  with  tears ;  and  his  heart  interpreted 
but  too  faithfully  her  emotion.  Still  he  answered 
calmly,  "No." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  she,  "  and  I  will  read  it  to  you." 
She  had  the  "Ledger"  in  her  hand,  and  she  read 
several  extracts  from  Indiana  papers,  giving  an  account 
of  the  seizure  of  four  slaves  who  had  escaped  from 
Bernard  McKIernan,  of  South  Florence,  Ala.,  and 
also  of  a  white  man,  calling  himself  Miller,  who  had 
them  in  charge. 

C307] 


308          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

Peter  listened  in  silence.  "It  is  just  what  1  ex- 
pected," said  lie  in  a  hoarse  voice,  when  she  had 
finished,  "just  what  I  told  them  all.  Oh!  if  they  had 
heard  to  me ! 

For  a  time  he  seemed  discouraged.  His  thoughts 
followed  the  trembling  fugitives  on  their  return,  and 
under  every  torture  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
see  inflicted  upon  runaways,  he  fancied  that  his  dear 
wife  and  children,  even  then,  were  groaning. 

A  boy  belonging  to  a  pious  man,  near  Tuscumbia — 
a  class  leader  in  the  Methodist  Church — was,  at  the 
time  Peter  came  away,  wearing  a  heavy  iron  collar 
upon  his  neck,  and  a  band  of  the  same  metal  around 
his  body.  A  rod  of  iron  was  welded  to  each  of  these 
upon  his  back,  and  extended  further  above  his  head 
than  his  hands  could  reach.  Kods  of  iron  were  also 
fastened  to  the  collar  on  each  side,  and  at  the  point  of 
each  shoulder  they  were  bent  up,  and  reached  higher 
than  his  head.  To  the  highest  of  these  rods  a  bell 
was  fastened,  which  tinkled  constantly.  In  the  morn- 
ing the  boy  was  locked  to  the  plough  by  a  chain 
which  was  fastened  to  the  band  around  his  body,  and 
thus  he  was  obliged  to  plough  till  noon.  The  head- 
man then  unlocked  the  chain,  and  led  the  mule  away  ; 
leaving  his  fellow-slave  to  follow  to  the  house.  All 
the  long  afternoon  he  was  forced  to  plough  in  the  same 
manner  ;  and  at  night,  the  head-man  locked  him  in  a 
cabin  alone,  and  left  him  to  cook  his  scanty  supper 
and  to  get  what  rest  his  torturing  irons  would  allow. 
For  several  months  he  had  already  worn  these  cruel 
badges  of  the  runaway — and  now  the  father  shuddered, 
as  in  imagination  he  saw  his  own  beloved  sons  endur- 
ing similar  punishments. 


PETER  PLANS  TO  REDEEM  HIS  FAMILY.        309 

Another  man,  belonging  to  Mr.  B ,  of  Tuscum- 

bia,  died  not  long  before  Peter  left  that  town,  from 
wearing  an  iron  collar  in  hot  weather.  It  rubbed  the 
skin  off  the  poor  fellow's  neck,  but  his  master  swore 
he  should  wear  it  till  he  died.  Soon  was  his  threat 
fulfilled,  for  the  flesh  mortified  under  the  heated  iron, 
and  when  the  sufferer  uttered  his  last  groan,  the  inhu- 
man instrument  was  still  upon  his  neck. 

He  knew  also  that  even  the  women  on  McKiernan's 
place  had  learned  to  wear  the  irons.  Well  he  remem- 
bered Mary — a  beautiful  woman,  and  a  special  favorite 
with  her  master,  as  all  the  pretty  women  were.  She 
had  received  so  much  abuse  from  her  mistress  that  her 
life  was  hateful  to  her,  and  at  last  she  resolved  to 
escape,  for  a  time  at  least,  from  her  persecutions.  Ac- 
cordingly she  fled  to  the  woods.  The  next  Sunday 
morning  the  order  was  issued  that  no  allowance  should 
be  given  out  till  all  the  hands  had  J)een  out  to  hunt 
Mary.  Peter  was  there  that  day  visiting  his  family, 
and  as  Vina  was  obliged  to  go,  he  joined  the  hunt, 
well  knowing  that  such  a  course  would  gratify  the 
master.  They  soon  found  her  track,  with  here  and 
there  traces  of  corn  and  onions  which  had  appeased 
her  hunger.  But  few  of  the  slaves,  however,  had  any 
desire  to  find  her,  and  those  few  were  easily  sent  by 
the  others  in  a  wrong  direction.  When  night  came, 
therefore,  Mary  had  not  been  taken.  All  day  they 
had  rambled  in  the  woods — fasting — except  that  some 
had  now  and  then  seized  a  roasting  ear  as  they  passed 
by  a  field  of  corn ;  they  were  delighted  therefore, 
when,  as  the  shades  of  night  approached,  they  were 
suffered  to  go  home,  and  to  receive  their  week's  allow- 
ance. 


310          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  KANSOMED. 

But  notwithstanding  the  failure  of  this  day's  hunt, 
the  search  for  Mary  was  at  divers  times  repeated,  and 
after  having  spent  three  or  four  months  in  the  woods, 
she  was  brought  in.  Then  came  the  punishment  for 
her  heinous  crime.  First,  her  master  gave  her  a  cruel 
beating,  and  then  the  overseer  inflicted  upon  her 
naked  back  a  like  "  correction  ;"  and  after  that,  for  a 
long  time,  she  was  daily  stripped  and  beaten  by  her 
mistress's  orders.  This  system  was  continued  until 
she  became  so  weak  that  they  feared  she  would  be 
"  ruined"  and  then  the  irons  were  brought  in  requisi- 
tion. The  collar  was  welded  on  her  slender  neck,  and 
a  heavy  band  of  iron  upon  her  ankle.  To  this  latter, 
one  end  of  a  heavy  log-chain  was  attached,  the-  other 
end  of  which  was  brought  up  and  locked  round  her 
waist.  Month  after  month  was  the  poor  woman  forced 
to  wear  these  galling  irons.  Peter,  himself,  had  often 
seen  her  coming  from  the  field  at  night,  "  lookin'  every 
minute  like  she  would  drop  down  to  tl\e  ground  with 
the  weight  of  her  shackles.  She  was  raggetty  and 
dirty  too,  for  she  hadn't  no  spirit  left  to  wash  and 
mend  her  clothes."*  The  image  of  this  tortured  wo- 
man would  rise  before  him  now — the  clanking  of  her 
heavy  chain  would  rack  his  ears.  No  wonder  that  he 

*  Vina  says,  "  Mary  done  took  so  much  whippin'  that  the  flesh 
between  her  shoulders  inflames  nigh  'bout  every  year,  and  the  skin 
looks  like  a  dry  brown  crust.  Then  they  has  to  send  for  the 
doctor,  and  he  takes  out  a  strip  o'  flesh  five  or  six  inches  long. 
After  a  while  her  back  heals  up  again,  and  she  gits  well  enough  to 
work.  They  done  quit  'busin'  her  now,  and  she  works  all  the  time 
in  the  field,  'cept  they  has  a  heap  o'  company,  or  there's  some  great 
hurry  o'  sewin'  gwine  on.  Then  they  brings  her  in  for  she's  a  ele- 
gant seamster,  and  understands  all  sorts  o'  house  service." 


PETER  PLANS  TO  REDEEM  HIS  FAMILY.    311 

could  not  rest.  No  wonder  that  all  labor  and  priva- 
tion seemed  as  nothing  if  he  could  yet  gain  the  ran- 
som of  his  loved  ones. 

Peter  started  immediately  for  Cincinnati,  in  the  hope 
of  finding  his  late  master,  and  obtaining  his  assistance 
in  this,  his  pressing  need.  But  he  was  disappointed. 
Mr.  Isaac  Friedman  was  still  in  Illinois.  His  brother 
Levi,  however,  warmly  espoused  his  cause,  and  would 
have  gone  himself  to  Tuscumbia,  to  try  what  could  be 
done  for  the  relief  of  the  family,  had  he  not  been 
kindly  warned  that  such  a  step  would  be  both  haz- 
ardous and  futile.  A  friend  of  his  in  Franklin 
county,  wrote  him  that  the  citizens  of  Tuscumbia 
were  highly  incensed  against  both  his  brother  and 
Peter,  as  in  consequence  of  what  the  latter  had  said 
to  Mrs.  McKiernan,  concerning  Mr.  Friedman's  partial 
promise  to  buy  his  family,  they  regarded  them  as  in- 
stigators of  the  escape.* 

But  this  did  not  discourage  the  anxious  husband 
and  father.  He  had  brought  from  Philadelphia  a  letter 

*  That  this  feeling  was  not,  however,  quite  universal  among  the 
citizens  is  evident  from  an  incident  which  occurred  on  board  the 
"  Greek  Slave,"  as  she  lay  at  Tuscumbia  Landing,  having  on  board 
the  captured  family.  "  Well,  Old  "Woman,"  said  a  gentleman  from 
town,  who  came  on  board  to  see  them,  "  are  you  sorry  for  running 
away  ?"  "  No,  Sir,  I  don't  feel  sorry ;"  replied  Vina.  "  I  think 
any  person  else  would  'a'  done  like  I  have."  "  Yes,  that's  so,"  re- 
plied he,  "  I  would  have  done  the  same  thing  myself.  Peter  is  a 
good  fellow  too,  and  your  master  is  an  old  rascal.  Look  here,  if  he 
takes  a  notion  to  sell  you  all,  I'd  like  to  buy  you,  for  I  believe 
you're  an  honest  family,  and  I  don't  think  the  less  of  you  for 
this."  "  I  can't  remember  his  name,"  said  Vina,  as  she  related 
the  incident,  "  but  he  spoke  mons's  kind,  and  he's  as  fine  looking 
a  man,  nigh  'bout,  as  ever  I  see." 


312          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

of  introduction  to  Levi  Coffin,  a  worthy  Friend,  resid- 
ing in  Cincinnati.  This  he  delivered,  and  Mr.  Coffin 
soon  made  his  case  known  to  several  benevolent  gen- 
tlemen in  town.  One  of  these,  Mr.  Samuel  Lewis,  at 
Peter's  request,  addressed  a  letter  to  Mr.  L.  B.  Thorn- 
ton, of  Tuscumbia,  requesting  him  to  ascertain  from 
Mr.  McKiernan,  whether  or  not  he  would  sell  the 
family,  and  at  what  price  he  valued  them,  and  asking 
him  to  write  the  result  of  his  inquiries  to  William 
Still,  of  Philadelphia.  (Mr.  Thornton  was  a  young 
man  much  esteemed — a  Virginian,  who  had  for  some 
time  taught  the  boy's  school  in  Tuscumbia,  while  he 
pursued  his  law  studies.  Peter  had  often  performed 
slight  services  for  him,  and  always  regarded  him  as 
one  of  his  best  friends.) 

One  day  during  his  stay  in  Cincinnati,  as  Peter  was 
standing  upon  the  sidewalk,  striving  in  his  own  mind 
to  devise  some  means  to  hasten  the  release  from  bond- 
age of  those  he  loved,  a  pale  lady,  seated  in  a  carriage, 
beckoned  him  towards  her.  He  approached  the  car- 
riage, and  the  lady  asked  him  if  he  would  like  em- 
ployment, and  if  he  could  drive.  He  replied  in  the 
affirmative,  and  was  soon  seated  on  the  box.  For 
several  hours  he  drove  her  carriage  about  the  city,  and 
so  kindly  did  she  address  him,  that  at  last  he  told  her 
all  his  grief.  She  listened  with  much  interest  to  the 
story,  and  after  expressing  her  sympathy  with  his  sor- 
rows, she  told  him  that  her  husband  was  a  friend  of  the 
unfortunate,  and  that  perhaps  he  could  assist  him  in 
his  efforts  to  buy  his  family.  She  accordingly  directed 
him  to  her  husband's  office,  and  entering,  he  found 
himself  in  the  presence  of  Hon.  Salmon  P.  Chase. 

This  good  man,  after  hearing  his  simple  tale,  readily 


PETER   PLANS  TO   REDEEM  HIS  FAMILY.         318 

offered  to  do  anything  in  his  power  to  aid  him.  Peter 
then  told  him  that  to  Mr.  John  Gist,  of  Kentucky,  a 
brother  of  his  former  master,  Mr.  McKiernan  was 
largely  indebted;  and  that  as  he  was  an  old  servant 
of  the  family,  he  thought  it  possible  that  Mr.  Gist 
would  be  able  and  willing  to  assist  him  in  the  purchase 
of  his  family.  Before  he  left  the  office  Mr.  Chase  wrote 
a  letter  to  this  gentleman,  asking  for  information  with 
regard  to  the  best  plan  for  getting  the  family  and  also 
if  he  could  in  any  way  aid  the  poor  man  in  his  efforts 
for  their  purchase. 

From  this  letter  Peter  never  heard,  although  he 
staid  in  Cincinnati  more  than  three  weeks  after  it  was 
despatched. 

Towards  the  last  of  June,  he  returned  with  a  heavy 
heart  to  his  friends  in  New  Jersey.  He  had  done  all 
he  could,  but  nowhere  could  he  discern  a  ray  of  hope. 
Yet  he  could  not  be  idle ;  and  as  it  seemed  useless  at 
that  time  to  attempt  any  further  steps  towards  the  ac- 
complishment of  his  one  absorbing  wish,  he  settled 
himself  at  service  in  Burlington,  New  Jersey. 

His  mistress,  Mrs.  Mary  A.  Buckman,  treated  him 
with  uniform  kindness,  and  with  her  aid  and  that  of 
her  two  daughters,  he  commenced  learning  to  read. 
We  have  before  related  his  resolute  attempts  to  learn 
the  mysteries  of  letters  during  his  few  visits  to  the 
Sabbath  School  in  Lexington,  but  that  was  long — 
long  years  ago,  and  though  he  had  then  mastered  the 
wondrous  alphabet,  and  even  learned  to  spell  a  few 
little  words,  he  had  never,  since  that  time,  been  able 
to  make  the  least  advance  in  erudition.  But  now  when 
through  the  kindness  of  these  ladies,  he  became  able  to 
read,  though  but  imperfectly,  the  precious  words  of 
14 


314        THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

the  New  Testament,  he  felt  that  his  arduous  efforts  to 
be  free  had  not  been  all  in  vain. 
'  Sometime  in  the  ensuing  August  came  the  following 
letter  from  Mr.  McKiernan,  to  whom  Mr.  Thornton 
had  referred  the  one  which  had  been  written  to  him 
from  Cincinnati : 

"  South  Florence,  Ala.,  6th  August,  1851. 

"  MR.  WILLAM  STILL,   NO.  31   NORTH   FIFTH  STREET, 
PHILADELPHIA. 

"  SIR  a  few  days  sine  rnr  Lewis  Thornton  of  Tus- 
cumbia  Ala  shewed  me  a  letter  dated  6  June  51  from 
Cincinnati  synd  samuel  Lewis  in  behalf  of  a  Negro  man 
by  the  name  of  peter  Gist  who  informed  the  writer 
of  the  Letter  that  you  were  his  Brother  &  wished  an 
answer  to  be  directed  to  you  as  he  peter  would  be  in 
Philadelphia,  the  object  of  the  letter  was  to  purchis 
from  me  4  Negroes  that  is  peters  Wife  &  3  children  2 
sons  &  1  girl  the  Name  of  said  Negroes  are  the  woman 
viney  the  (mother)  Eldest  son  peter  21  or  2  years  old 
second  son  Leven  19  or  20  years  1  Girl  about  13  or  14 
years  old.  the  Husband  and  Father  of  these  people 
once  belonged  to  a  relation  of  mine  by  the  name  of 
Gist  now  Decest  &  some  few  years  sine  he  peter 
was  sold  to  a  man  by  the  Name  of  Friedman  who 
removed  to  Cincinnati  ohio  &  Tuck  peter  with  him  of 
course  peter  became  free  by  the  voluntary  act  of  the 
master  some  time  last  march  a  white  man  by  the 
name  of  Miller  apperd  in  the  nabourhood  &  abducted 
the  bove  negoes  was  caute  at  vincanes  Indi  with  said 
negroes  &  was  thare  convicted  of  steling  &  remanded 
back  to  Ala  to  Abide  the  penelty  of  the  law  &  on  his 
return  met  his  just  reward  by  Getting  drownded  at  the 


PETEE  PLANS  TO  REDEEM  HIS  FAMILY.   315 

mouth  of  Cumberland  River  on  the  ohio  in  attempting 
to  make  his  escape  I  recoverd  &  Braught  Back  said 
4  negroes  or  as  You  would  say  coulard  people  under 
the  Belief  that  peter  the  Husband  was  acsessery  to  the 
offence  thareby  putting  me  to  much  Expense  &  Truble 
to  the  amt  $1000  which  if  he  gets  them  he  or  his 
Friends  must  refund  these  4  negros  here  are  worth  in 
the  market  about  4000  for  tha  are  Extraordenary  fine 
&  likely  &  but  for  the  fact  of  Elopement  I  would  not 
take  8000  Dollars  for  them  but  as  the  thing  now  stands 
you  can  say  to  Peter  &  his  new  discovered  Relations 
in  Philadelphi  I  will  take  5000  for  the  4  culerd  people 
&  if  this  will  suite  him  &  he  can  raise  the  money  I  will 
deliver  to  him  or  his  agent  at  paduca  at  mouth  of 
Tennessee  river  said  negroes  but  the  money  must  be 
Deposited  in  the  Hands  of  some  respectable  person  at 
paduca  before  I  remove  the  property  it  wold  not  be 
safe  for  peter  to  come  to  this  countery 

"write  me  a  line  on  recpt  of  this  &  let  me  know 
peters  views  on  the  above 

"I  am  Yours  &c 

"  B.  McKiERNAN" 

"  NB  say  to  peter  to  write  &  let  me  know  his  views 
amediately  as  I  am  determind  to  act  in  a  way  if  he 
dont  take  this  offer  he  will  never  have  an  other  ap- 
portunity 

"B.  McKlEEKAN" 

This  letter  was  soon  circulated  among  those  friend 
who  had  become  interested  in  accomplishing  the  re-union, 
of  the  family,  and  so  enormous  was  the  price  demanded 
for  the  slaves  that  few  persons  deemed  it  possible  for 
Peter  to  procure  the  means  to  ransom  them.     But  his 


316          THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

courage  did  not  falter.  He  could  not  live  in  freedom, 
surrounded  by  his  friends,  and  supplied  with  every 
comfort,  and  yet  make  no  effort  to  redeem  those  he 
loved  far  better  than  life,  or  even  liberty,  from  the  cruel 
bondage  which  they  endured.  But  for  a  time  he  hesi- 
tated as  to  the  means  that  would  be  safest  and  most 
speedy  in  effecting  his  purpose.  Give  it  up,  he  would 
not — that  was  settled. 

He  thought  of  going  from  place  to  place  to  solicit 
aid,  but  then  he  was  unknown,  and  even  the  benevo- 
lent in  heart  would  hesitate  to  contribute  towards  so 
large  a  sum,  while  they  were  unacquainted  with  his 
previous  character.  It  would  be  useless  to  write  to 
any  of  his  old  friends  in  Tuscumbia  for  testimonials 
concerning  the  uprightness  of  his  former  life — for  there 
he  was  believed  to  have  originated  the  plan  of  running 
off  his  family,  and  he  knew  that  notwithstanding  all 
his  years  of  honest,  patient,  persevering  toil  he  was 
now  branded  as  a  negro  thief. 

After  pondering  the  subject  for  some -weeks,  he 
bethought  him  that  after  all,  he  might  have  a  friend  in 
"  the  North"  who  had  known  his  character.  He  re- 
membered that  one  of  the  young  ladies,  who  had 
taught  in  the  Seminary  at  Tuscumbia,  returned  home 
about  the  time*  he  finished  paying  for  himself;  and  he 
resolved,  if  possible,  to  ascertain  her  residence.  He 
had  heard  the  teachers,  in  conversation  with  each  other, 
mention  New  York  and  Syracuse,  and  he  believed  the 
latter  place  had  been  their  home.  Yet  he  had  no  cer- 
tain knowledge,  for  he  had  cautiously  refrained  from 
asking  any  questions  about  the  North,  lest  he  should 
be  suspected  of  undue  curiosity  respecting  the  dwelling 
of  the  Free.  He  soon  communicated  to  his  friends 


PETER  PLANTS  TO   REDEEM  HIS  FAMILY.       317 

his  hope  of  obtaining  some  testimonials  of  good  charac- 
ter from  these  ladies,  if  they  could  be  found,  and  a 
letter  of  inquiry  concerning  them  was  immediately 
written  by  Mr.  McKim,  of  Philadelphia,  to  Rev.  S. 
J.  May,  of  Syracuse. 

This  letter  was  promptly  answered,  but  from  some 
unknown  cause  the  reply  was  not  received  by  Peter. 
So  he  quietly  continued  at  his  service,  performing  his 
regular  duties  to  the  satisiaction  of  his  mistress,  though 
all  the  while  his  mind  was  racked  by  alternate  hopes 
and  fears. 

Thus  passed  the  winter  of  1851-2 ;  but  in  the  spring 
his  anxiety  to  do  something  for  his  family  became  so 
intense  that  he  resolved  to  go  out  and  try  his  success 
in  collecting  funds  for  their  ransom.  He  acquainted 
Mrs.  Buckman  with  this  design,  but,  just  after  she  had 
engaged  another  servant  to  take  his  place,  an  incident 
occurred  which  revived  his  hope  of  finding  yet  a 
friend.  He  heard  a  gentleman  who  was  visiting  at  the 
house  speak  of  his  home  in  Syracuse,  and  he  took  an 
opportunity  to  inquire  of  him  if  he  had  ever  known 
the  ladies  of  whom  he  was  so  anxious  to  hear.  To  his 

great  joy  Mr.  knew  them  both,  and  informed 

him  that  although  one  of  them  still  remained  in  the 
South,  the  other  had  returned,  was  married,  and  resided 
a  few  miles  from  Syracuse. 

This  cheering  news  Peter  communicated  to  his  mis- 
tress, who,  at  his  request,  wrote  for  him  to  his  friend. 
He  now  determined  to  remain  in  Burlington  until  he 
should  receive  an  answer  to  this  letter,  and  accordingly, 
he  entered  the  service  of  Judge  Boudinot,  one  of  the 
principal  citizens  of  that  place. 

About  this  time  the  idea  occurred  to  "him^  that,  per- 


318          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

Iiaps,  it  would  be  best  to  buy  his  wife  and  daughter 
first,  and  afterwards  to  try  to  raise  a  sum  sufficient  to 
purchase  the  two  boys.  He  determined  at  least  to 
learn  what  chance  of  success  he  would  have  in  case  he 
should  obtain  the  means  to  do  this ;  and  for  assistance 
in  making  this  inquiry,  he  applied  to  Dr.  Ely,  of  Med- 
ford,  N.  J.,  who  wrote  for  him  a  second  letter  to  Mr. 
Thornton  of  Tuscumbia.  To  this  came  in  dute  time 
the  following  answer : 

"  Tuscumbia,  Ala.,  August  19th,  1852. 
"  H.  N.  ELY — Dear  Sir — Your  letter  has  remained 
unanswered  for  so  long  because  I  have  not  been  able 
to  have  an  interview  with  Mr.  McKiernan  on  the  sub- 
ject about  which  you  wrote.     I  have  just  seen  him. 
He  says  he  will  not  separate  the  family  of  negroes,  and 
the  lowest  price  he  will  take  under  any  circumstances 
is  $5,000  ;  and  if  that  is  placed  in  my  hands,  or  with 
any  responsible  persons  for  him,  he  will  let  the  ne- 
•groes  go. 

"  I  would  like  Peter  to  get  his  wife  and  family,  and 
fhink  this  amount  a  high  price :  but  it  is  the  lowest,  I 
know.  Yery  respectfully, 

LEWIS  B.  THORNTON." 

The  letter  written  by  Mrs.  Buckman  failed  to  reach 
its  destination ;  and  after  remaining  in  Judge  Boudi- 
not's  service  for  five  months,  Peter  resolved  to  go  him- 
self to  Syracuse,  and  find  his  friend,  if  indeed  he  had 
one  in  that  vicinity.  If  he  accomplished  this,  he  would 
then  try  his  success  in  collecting  money.  He  had 
already  saved  from  his  wages  since  he  had  been  in 
Burlington,  one  hundred  dollars,  which  he  determined 
should  be  the  first  contribution  towards  the  $5,000. 


CHAPTEE    XXXIV. 
"HOW    DID    HE    GKT    THE    MONEY P" 

PETER  received  from  his  friends  at  parting  but  small 
encouragement  to  hope.  The  sum  required  was  so 
enormous,  and  the  idea  of  paying  gold  to  him  who 
had  already  robbed  them  of  the  earnings  of  long  years 
was  so  repugnant  to  the  feelings  of  the  best  men,  that 
it  seemed  almost  useless  to  attempt  to  raise  the  money. 
A  few  days  before  he  started,  his  brother  William  said 
to  him,  "  You  ought  not  to  feel  so  uneasy — so  perfectly 
restless  because  your  family  are  slaves.  There  are 
thousands  of  people  as  good  as  they  who  are  in  the 
same  condition.  Do  you  see  that  woman  across  the 
street?  She  is  just  as  good  as  you  are,  and  she  has 
a  mother  and  sisters  in  slavery.  You  cannot  expect 
people  to  give  you  five  thousand  dollars  to  buy  your 
family,  when  so  many  others,  equally  deserving,  are 
just  as  badly  off." 

"  Look  here,"  replied  Peter,  "  I  know  a  heap  of  men, 
as  good,  and  as  smart  as  I  am,  that  are  slaves  now ; 
but — I've  bought  my  liberty,  and  my  family  shall  be  free." 

On  the  eighth  of  November,  1852,  he  left  Burling- 
ton on  his  travels,  carrying  with  him  the  kindest 
wishes  of  all  who  knew  him,  and  also  the  following 

[319] 


320          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

certificates  from  those  whom  he  had  served  in  that 
city. 

"  Burlington,  November  6, 1852. 

"  Peter  Still  (a  colored  man),  has  lived  in  rny  employ 
for  some  months  past,  but  I  have  known  him  for  two 
years. 

"  It  affords  me  much  pleasure  in  being  able  to  re- 
commend him,  as  an  honest,  sober,  industrious  and 
capable  man,  perfectly  trustworthy  and  ever  willing  to 
make  himself  generally  useful,  either  about  the  house 
or  stable.,  I  part  with  him  reluctantly ;  he  leaves  me, 
to  make  an  effort  to  redeem  his  wife  and  children  from 
slavery. 

"E.  E.  BOUDINOT." 

"  The  above  named  Peter  Still,  was  in  my  employ 
ten  months,  during  which  time  he  fully  sustained  the 
character  given  him  by  Mr.  Boudinot.  It  gives  me 
pleasure  to  add  my  name  to  this  recommendation. 

"MARY  A.  BUCKMAN." 

"  Judge  Boudinot  is  one  of  our  principal  citizens, 
and  I  have  entire  confidence  in  his  recommendation  of 
Peter  Still.  ^ 

"  CoRTiANDT  VAN  EENSSELAER. 

"  Burlington,  N.  J.,  Nov.  6, 1852." 

Peter  went  first  to  Brooklyn,  where  he  visited  his 
brother  John,  who  by  his  advice  and  sympathy  did 
much  to  cheer  him  on  his  way.  "  Now,  Peter,"  said 
he,  "  you  can  call  on  me  at  any  time  for  fifty  or  a 
hundred  dollars,  and  whenever  you  need  clothes,  or 
anything  else  that  I  can  furnish  you,  just  let  me  know. 


"HOW  DID  HE   GET  THE  MONEY?"  Ul, 

And  be  careful  whom  you  trust.  You  will  find  plenty 
of  friends,  if  it  is  known  you  have  a  little  money.  Be 
careful,  and  watch  well  for  rogues. 

On  the  sixteenth  of  November,  he  reached  Syra- 
cuse, and  delivered  a  letter  of  introduction  and  recom- 
mendation from  Mr.  McKim,  of  Philadelphia,  to  Eev. 
Mr.  May.  This  lover  of  humanity  listened  with 
great  interest  to  his  thrilling-  story,  examined  his 
papers,  which  gave  ample  testimony  to  the  integrity 
of  his  character,  as  well  as  to  the  truthfulness  of  his 
tale ;  and  the  next  day  sent  him  to  the  residence  of 
the  friend  whom  he  had  come  to  seek — the  writer  of 
this  narrative.  Here  he  remained  until  the  nine- 
teenth, when,  with  a  letter  to  Mr.  May,  corroborating 
such  facts  in  his  statement  as  had  come  to  her  know- 
ledge, and  certifying  to  his  character  for  truthfulness 
and  industry  while  a  slave,  he  returned  to  Syracuse. 

He  was  now  thoroughly  furnished  for  his  arduous 
undertaking;  and  with  letters  of  introduction  from  Mr. 
May  to  various  co-laborers  in  the  work  of  benevo- 
lence, he  left  Syracuse,  and  journeyed  westward. 

His  first  stop  was  at  Auburn,  where  a  letter  from 
Mr.  May,  together  with  his  other  papers,  and  above  all, 
his  modest  earnestness  of  manner,  won  him  a  ikvorable 
reception.  He  visited  first  the  clergymen  of  the  differ- 
ent churches,  to  some  of  whom  he  brought  letters ; 
and  they  commended  him  to  the  charity  of  their 
people.  Here,  in  Rev.  Mr.  Millard's  church,  on  Sun- 
day evening,  he  appeared  for  the  first  time  before  the 
public.  "I  was  mighty  skeered,"  said  he,  "  when  Mr. 
Millard  took  me  with  him  into  the  pulpit,  and  told  me 
I  must  stand  up,  myself,  and  tell  my  story  to  the 
people.  'Feared  like  I  could  n't  stand,  no  how ;  but  I 
14* 


322          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

said  a  few  words,  and  Mr.  Millard,  lie  helped  me  out ; 
so  I  got  along  mighty  well." 

He  remained  a  week  in  Auburn,  and  received  while 
there  fifty  dollars.  This  success  encouraged  him,  and 
he  went  on  to  Rochester,  stopping  by  the  way  at 
Waterloo,  where  also  he  received  some  assistance. 

At  Rochester  he  staid  two  or  three  weeks,  and  was 
kindly  entertained  at  the  houses  of  worthy  citizens, 
and  about  the  middle  of  December  he  returned  to 
Syracuse  with  two  hundred  dollars.  This,  Mr.  May 
deposited  for  him  in  the  bank,  and  giving  him  letters 
to  Messrs.  "William  Lloyd  Garrison,  Theodore  Parker, 
T.  Starr  King,  and  others,  in  Boston,  bade  him  hasten 
thither,  in  order  to  be  there  before  the  Holidays. 

As  soon  as  he  had  delivered  his  letters  of  introduc- 
tion from  Mr.  May,  in  Boston,  he  sought  Andover,  for 
the  purpose  of  visiting  the  Author  of  "  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin,"  to  whom  also  he  had  a  letter  of  recommenda- 
tion. Mrs.  Stowe  received  him  cordially,  and  after 
heading  his  subscription  list  in  Andover,  gave  him  the 
following  brief  letter,  which,  he  says  "helped  him 
mightily" 

"  Having  examined  the  claims  of  this  unfortunate 
man,  I  am  satisfied  that  his  is  a  case  that  calls  for  com- 
passion and  aid. 

"  Though  the  sum  demanded  is  so  large  as  to  look 
hopeless,  yet  if  every  man  who  is  so  happy  as  to  be 
free,  and  have  his  own  wife  and  children  for  his  own, 
would  give  even  a  small  amount,  the  sum  might  soon 
be  raised. 

"As  ye  would  that  men  should  do  for  you — do  ye 
even  so  for  them. 

H.  B.  STOWE." 


"HOW   DID  HE   GET  THE   MONEY?"  323 

A  contribution  was  also  taken  for  him  at  the  Free 
Church  in  Andover,  and  during  his  sta^n  that  town 
he  received  about  forty  dollars. 

On  his  return  to  Boston,  he  presented  the  following 
letter,  which  he  had  brought  from  Burlington,  to  Eev. 
John  P.  Eobinson. 

"  Burlington,  N.  J.,  Oct.  5, 1852. 

"  DEAR  COUSIN  JOHN: — Peter  Still,  who  carries  this 
note,  is  one  of  the  most  estimable  of  men.  He  wishes 
to  have  access  to  the  great  hearts  of  some  of  the  good 
people  of  your  city,  who  have  great  purses. 

"  Please  get  from  him  his  history,  and  his  object, 
and  direct  him  what  to  do.  His  integrity  may  be  re- 
lied on.  "Affectionately, 

"JOSEPH  PABRISH." 

"  The  above  letter  is  from  Dr.  Joseph  Parrish,  a  dis- 
tinguished physician  of  New  Jersey,  and  well  known 
by  his  profession  in  Boston. 

"JOHN  P.  EOBINSON. 

"  Boston,  January  3, 1853." 

A  day  or  two  later,  the  following  notice  appeared  in 
one  of  the  morning  papers,  which  has  been  copied  in 
the  papers  of  almost  every  New  England  town  which 
Peter  afterwards  visited : 

"  Boston,  January  3,  1853. 

"  The  bearer,  Peter  Still,  was  kidnapped  in  early 
childhood,  on  the  borders  of  Delaware  river,  in  New 
Jersey,  and  carried  thence  to  Kentucky,  and  subse- 
quently to  Alabama.  After  being  held  in  slavery 


324          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

more  than  forty  years,,  lie  succeeded  in  purchasing  his 
freedom ;  and  being  obliged,  consequently,  by  the 
laws  of  Alabama,  to  leave  that  State,  he  came  North  to 
Philadelphia,  where,  by  a  strange  coincidence,  he  be- 
came, acquainted  with  his  brother  and  family,  from 
which  he  had  been  so  long  severed.  He  has  left  a  wife 
and  three  children  in  Alabama,  whom  he  naturally 
and  ardently  desires  to  bring  into  freedom,  and  have 
with  him  at  the  North.  For  this  purpose  he  now  ap- 
peals to  the  sympathy  of  the  benevolent  for  such  pecu- 
niary aid  as  they  may  be  disposed  to  give  him. 

"  We,  the  undersigned,  have  carefully  examined  his 
letters  and  papers,  and  have  obtained  knowledge  of 
him.  From  this  examination,  we  are  satisfied  that  his 
story  is  true  in  all  its  particulars ;  that  he  is  himself  a 
worthy  and  virtuous  man,  whose  extraordinary  history 
gives  him  a  strong  and  peculiar  claim  upon  the  public 
sympathy  and  aid. 

"  Any  contributions  for  the  object  above  named  may 
be  forwarded  to  any  of  us. 

"  S.  K.  LOTHROP, 
"  ELLIS  GRAY  LOEING, 
"  EPHRAIM  PEABODY, 
"  WM.  J.  BOWDITCH, 

"  J.  I.  BOWDITCH, 

"  JOHN  P.  BOBINSON, 
"Tnos.  STARR  KING." 

In  Boston  and  neighboring  towns  he  remained  till 
the  last  of  March,  when,  having  deposited  four  hundred 
and  sixty  dollars  in  the  hands  of  Ellis  Gray  Loring, 
Esq.,  who  kindly  apted  as  his  treasurer,  he  received 
numerous  letters  of  recommendation  from  gentlemen 


"HOW  DID   HE  GET  THE  MONEY?"  325 

of  distinction  here,  and  went  to  Portland,  Me.  The 
following  will  serve  to  illustrate  the  spirit  cherished  by 
these  noble  sons  of  New  England  towards  the  dark- 
hued  victim  of  oppression.  Among  his  papers  are 
many  others  which  breathe  the  same  tender  sympathy 
the  same  warm  human  love. 

"  Boston,  March  28th,  1853. 

"  I  desire  to  certify  that  I  am  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Peter  Still,  have  examined  all  his  papers,  and  am 
entirely  satisfied  with  the  truthfulness  of  his  story  and 
the  worthiness  of  his  claims  upon  the  sympathy  and 
beneficence  of  the  community.  It  does  not  seem  possi- 
ble that  any  farther  commendation  of  a  Christian 
brother's  appeal  to  the  charity  of  men  should  be  needed 
than  the  fact  that  he  desires  to  be  the  owner  of  his  own 
wife  and  family.  So  far  as  any  words  of  mine  can 
help  him,  I  most  cordially  recommend  him  to  the 
favorable  consideration  of  the  humane. 

"T.  S.  KING." 

At  Portland  Peter's  subscription  list  was  headed  by 
Hon.  Neal  Dow  ;  and  during  the  eight  days  he  spent 
in  that  city,  he  received  one  hundred  dollars.  Thence 
he  proceeded  to  Brunswick,  Bath,  Saco,  Biddeford ; 
Portsmouth,  N.  H. ;  Hampton,  Newburyport  and  Gar- 
retson  Station  ;  and  on  his  return  to  Boston,  about  the 
last  of  May,  he  deposited  four  hundred  and  ninetjr 
dollars  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Loring;  making  in  all 
nine  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  which  he  had  received 
during  the  five  months  he  had  spent  in  New  England. 

He  now  decided  to  return  to  New  Jersey  and  to 
visit  Philadelphia  for  the  purpose  of  further  conference 


326        THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   KANSOMED. 

with  his  friends.  As  lie  passed  through  New  York, 
on  his  way  thither,  he  presented  a  letter  to  Thomas 
Foulcke  of  that  city,  from  Dr.  Parrish  of  Burlington, 
and  though  he  staid  but  a  short  time,  a  few  friends 
there  presented  him  seventy -five  dollars. 

At  Burlington  he  allowed  himself  a  few  days  rest. 
He  had  been  absent  seven  months,  and  had  visited 
more  than  twenty  different  towns.  His  mind  had 
been  constantly  excited — the  theme  of  his  discourse 
wherever  he  went,  was  the  liberation  of  his  family. 
He  had  no  doubts  concerning  the  result.  "When  asked 
what  he  would  do  with  the  money  he  had  gained,  if 
after  all,  he  failed  to  accomplish  his  object,  his  reply 
was,  "  'Pears  like  the  Lord  wont  let  me  fail."  Such 
was  his  simple,  earnest  faith,  and  to  this  his  actions 
corresponded.  His  dress  was  neat,  but  strictly  eco- 
nomical, and  though  he  was  not  mean,  yet  every  dol- 
lar he  received  was  precious. 

Notwithstanding  his  success  thus  far,  his  friends  in 
New  Jersey  and  Philadelphia  had  no  confidence  in 
his  being  able  to  raise  the  whole  sum  demanded  by  the 
tyrant ;  and  Mr.  Dillwyn  Smith,  of  Burlington,  who 
from  the  first,  had  taken  much  interest  in  his  case, 
wrote  for  him  to  his  former  mistress,  Mrs.  Hogun,  of 
Alabama,  to  solicit  her  influence  with  Mr.  McKiernan, 
in  the  hope  of  procuring  some  abatement  of  the  price. 

For  two  weeks  Peter  waited  there  for  an  answer  to 
this  letter,  but  none  arriving,  he  grew  impatient  to 
proceed  with  his  great  work  ;  and  once  more  bidding 
adieu  to  his  kind  friends,  who  had,  during  his  stay, 
presented  him  forty-five  dollars,  he  left  them  and  went 
again  to  Brooklyn. 

There  he  spent  the  fourth  of  July  with  his  brother 


"HOW  DID  HE   GET  THE  MONEY?"  327 

John,  and  then  he  -went  to  Syracuse,  where,  in  a  few 
days,  he  received  one  hundred  and  twenty -five  dollars. 
Thence  he  went  to  Peterboro',  and  spent  a  night  at  the 
home  of  Gerritt  Smith.  He  had  frequently  heard, 
since  he  had  been  free,  of  the  great  wealth  of  this  dis- 
tinguished friend  of  Man,  and  he  had  expected  to  find 
him  inhabiting  a  princely  dwelling,  abounding  in  all 
the  luxuries  that  gold  can  buy.  But  to  his  astonish- 
ment, his  residence  was  a  plain  and  quiet  home,  and 
his  manners  and  style  of  living  entirely  free  from  pcmp 
and  ostentation.  Mr.  Smith  gave  him  the  following 
letter,  together  with  a  generous  sum  for  the  furtherance 
of  his  all-engrossing  object. 

"  I  am,  and  have  long  been  deeply  interested  in  the 
case  of  the  bearer,  Peter  Still.  I  hope  he  may  meet 
with  generous  friends  wherever  he  shall  go. 

"GERRITT  SMITH. 

"  Peterboro,  July  27, 1853." 

Peter  now  returned  to  Boston,  arriving  there  the  last 
of  July,  and  on  the  third  of  August,  he  was  in  New 
Bedford.  Here  he  remained  till  the  twelfth,  when  he 
returned  to  Boston  with  one  hundred  and  fifteen 
dollars,  which  he  deposited  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Lor- 
ing.  Next  he  visited  Lowell,  whence  he  returned  on 
the  second  of  September,  with  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
five  dollars.  This  also  he  placed  in  the  care  of  his 
kind  treasurer.  Somerville  gave  him  thirty-six  dollars, 
Cambridge  nineteen,  and  next  he  found  himself  at 
Worcester,  where  soon  after  his  arrival  the  following 
notice  appeared  in  the  "  Spy." 


328          THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

"  Worcester,  September  8, 1853. 

"  We  would  take  this  method  of  commending  to  the 
attention  of  all  Christians  and  friends  of  humanity,  the 
bearer,  Peter  Still.  We  heard  his  story,  and  examined 
his  letters  of  introduction  when  he  first  came  to  Boston, 
in  December  last,  and  are  satisfied  of  his  worthiness  to 
be  encouraged  and  helped  as  he  needs.  He  has  been 
welcomed  to  many  hearts  in  New  England,  and  he 
will  be  to  many  more.  All  ye  who  can,  give  him  aid 
and  comfort. 

"  J.  Gr.  ADAMS. 

"  A.  HILL. 

"  EDWARD  E.  HALE." 

In  Worcester  he  remained  about  two  weeks,  and 
then  once  more  returned  to  Boston  with  one  hundred 
and  seventy-five  dollars. 

Next  he  journeyed  southward;  visited  Plymouth, 
Kingston,  and  Fall  Eiver,  and  in  every  town  found 
friends  ready  and  willing  to  aid  him  in  his  work. 
From  Fall  Eiver,  Rev.  Asa  Bronson  commended  him 
in  the  following  letter  to  Providence,  to  which  place 
he  immediately  repaired : 

"  To  the  disciples  of  Christ  and  the  friends  of  humanity 

in  Providence,  E.  I. 

"  I  have  carefully  examined  the  various  letters  and 
documents  of  Peter  Still,  and  I  fully  believe  that  he  is 
entitled  to  the  entire  confidence,  cordial  sympathy,  and 
generous  aid  of  the  Christian  public.  We  have  as- 
sisted him  in  Fall  Eiver  and  vicinity  to  the  amount  of 
about  $200. 


"HOW  DID  HE   GET  THE  MONEY?"  329 

'  it  *        * 

"  Help  him  if  you  can.     '  He  that  hath,  pity  on  the 

poor,  lendeth  to  the  Lord.' 

"With  due  respect, 
•  "  Yours, 

"AsA  BRONSON. 

"  Fall  Eiver,  October  26th,  1853." 

In  Providence,  Peter  remained  during  the  month 
of  November,  and  on  looking  at  his  book,  in  which 
were  registered  the  gifts  he  there  received,  we  find  that 
one  hundred  and  forty  separate  individuals  contributed 
to  his  aid.  Besides  what  he  then  personally  received, 
collections  were  taken  up  for  him  in  four  churches  in 
the  city  on  the  seventh  of  November.  In  Worcester, 
one  hundred  and  fifty-four  individuals  contributed, 
and  when  we  consider  that  to  most  of  these  persons, 
.he  of  course  repeated  a  sketch  of  his  history,  we  cannot 
but  wonder  that  his  energies  flagged  not.  We  must, 
at  least,  admire  his  industry. 

He  received  in  Providence  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars ;  and  then  after  making  a  short  visit  at  Woburn,  ' 
he  returned  to  Boston,  having  gathered  during  the  ten 
weeks  he  had  been  absent,  six  hundred  and  thirty 
dollars.  Here  he  remained,  visiting  occasionally  at 
Eoxbury,  Charlestown,  Cambridge,  and  other  neigh- 
boring towns,  until  about  the  middle  of  January,  when, 
placing  in  the  hands  of  his  treasurer  two  hundred 
dollars  more,  which  he  had  gathered  since  his  return 
from  Providence,  he  started  homeward. 

On  the  twentieth  of  January,  we  again  find  him  in 
New  York.  He  brought  from  a  kind  friend  in  Salem 
the  following  letter,  which  he  immediately  presented : 


330          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

"  Salem,  First  Mouth  12th,  1854. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND:  I  take  the  liberty  of  giving  the 
bearer,  Peter  Still,  a  letter  to  thee.  He  is  the  colored 
man,  whose  story  I  partly  related  to  thee  in  Boston. 

"I  think  there  is  that  in  his  story  that  verifies  the 
proverb,  that  'truth  is  stranger  than  fiction.' 

"I  do  not  doubt  the  truthfulness  of  Peter,  and  he 
can  tell  thee  his  own  story,  which  unfolds  a  phase  in 
the  history  of  slavery  strongly  illustrative  of  its  evils, 
its  oppressions,  its  injustice,  and  its  opposition  to  all 
that  is  good,  and  kind,  and  Christian. 

"I  have  ventured  to  tell  Peter  that  I  think  he  will 
find  sympathizing  friends  in  New  York,  and  among 
them  the  kind  friend  I  now  address. 

"  Thy  sincere  friend, 

"  STEPHEN  A.  CHASE. 

"  EGBERT  J.  MURRAY." 

This  kind  friend  was  right.  Peter  found  sympathiz- 
ing friends  in  New  York,  and  before  the  middle  of 
February  he  had  received  in  that  city  and  Brooklyn 
$1,146  45. 

He  then  went  on  to  Burlington,  and  in  that  city  and 
its  neighborhood,  he  remained  until  May.  His  heart 
now  beat  high  with  the  hope  of  a  speedy  reunion  with 
his  loved  ones ;  and  even  those  among  his  friends  who, 
at  first  had  been  furthest  from  uttering  words  of  vain 
encouragement,  now  cheered  him  on.  They  looked 
upon  him  with  wonder.  All  unlettered  as  he  was — 
but  four  years  out- of  slavery — they  could  hardly  credit 
his  strange  success,  while  hearing  from  his  own  lips 
the  story  of  his  travels. 


"HOW  DID  HE   GET  THE   MONEY?"'  831 

Peter  was  not  spoiled  by  his  good  fortune,  and  never 
presumed  upon  the  indulgence  of  his  benefactors. 
Everywhere  his  manners  were  the  same — modest  and 
respectful,  yet  full  of  earnest  dignity — the  result  of 
virtuous  self-respect.  "  In  every  place  I  go,"  said  he, 
"I  aim  to  associate  with  the  best  people.  I  never 
knowed  nothing  gained  by  going  into  low  company." 
And  he  was  right.  The  best  men  in  every  place  he 
visited  opened  wide  their  doors  at  his  coming ;  and  at 
their  tables,  notwithstanding  the  prejudice — once  well- 
nigh  universal — against  color,  he  was  a  welcome  guest. 

Early  in  May,  he  again  departed  on  his  travels ;  and 
earnestly  did  he  hope  that  this  tour  would  be  the  last, 
before  he  should  be  ready  to  start  in  another  direction 
— to  meet  those  for  whose  ransom  he  had  become  a 
wanderer. 

He  went  directly  to  New  York,  where  he  received 
the  following  letter  from  the  senior  editor  of  the 
Tribune,  which  he  hastened  to  deliver  in  Albany. 

"  New  York,  May  10, 1854. 

"  MY  OLD  FEIEND  :  Peter  Still,  who  will  hand  you 
this,  was  born  free  in  New  Jersey  ;  kidnapped  thence 
when  six  years  old,  with  his  brother,  two  years  older, 
and  sold  into  slavery ;  served  forty  years  in  Alabama  ; 
finally  bought  himself  free,  leaving  his  wife  and  three 
children  in  the  hands  of  the  scoundrels  who  had 
robbed  him  of  forty  years'  work;  and  he  is  now 
begging  money  to  buy  them  out  of  bondage.  His 
chivalrous  robber  onlv  asks  him  $5000  for  his  own 

t/  TT 

wife  and  children.  It  is  robbery  to  pay  it,  but  inhu- 
manity to  refuse  ;  and,  as  the  time  has  not  yet  arrived 
for  paying  such  villains  with  lead  and  steel,  rather 


332          THE  KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  EANSOMED. 

than  gold,  I  wish,  you  could  help  him  raise  a  part  of 
the  money  among  those  you  know. 
"  Yours, 

"HORACE  GREELEY. 

"  George  Dawson,  Esq., 

"  Albany  Evening  Journal  Office." 

Here,  too,  Peter  found  friends.  Thurlow  Weed, 
after  contributing  generously  to  his  aid,  gave  him  a 
letter  expressive  of  his  confidence  in  the  integrity  of 
his  character,  and,  during  the  few  days  which  he  spent 
in  the  Dutch  Capital,  he  received  seventy -five  dollars. 

Thence  he  went  to  Pittsfield,  Mass.,  where  he  re- 
ceived one  hundred  and  five  dollars,  and  then,  without 
loss  of  time,  he  journeyed  on  to  Springfield.  Here 
one  hundred  dollars  was  added  to  his  fund,  and  on  the 
twenty-second  day  of  June,  we  find  him  at  New 
Haven. 

Soon  after  his  arrival  here,  he  waited  on  Ecv.  Leon- 
ard Bacon,  to  whom  he  brought  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion. Mr.  Bacon  examined  all  his  papers,  and  imme- 
diately entered  with  great  zeal  into  the  work  of  aiding 
his  endeavors.  He  gave  him  the  following  letter  of 
recommendation  to  his  townsmen ;  and  in  divers  ways, 
proved  himself  one  of  that  noble  band  who  delight  in 
works  of  mercy  for  the  mercy's  sake. 

"  The  case  of  this  poor  man,  Peter  Still,  is  a  hard  one. 
Kidnapped  in  his  youth,  and  by  unlegalized  fraud  and 
violence  reduced  to  slavery,  he  has  borne  the  yoke  for 
many  years  with  exemplary  patience.  He  became  a 
husband,  in  the  sense  in  which  a  slave  can  be  a  hus- 
band ;  and  children — his  by  the  law  of  nature  and  of 


"HOW  DID  HE  GET  THE  MONEY?"  333 

God,  but  another  man's  property  by  the  atrocious  laws 
of  Alabama — were  born  to  him  in  the  house  erf  bond- 
age. At  last  he  became  free  by  the  consent  of  his 
owner.  He  purchased  his  freedom  by  the  slow 
accumulation  of  what  he  could  earn  when  all  the  ser- 
vice 'exacted  by  an  absolute  master,  from  day  to  day, 
had  been  performed.  His  wife  and  three  children  at- 
tempted to  escape  from  slavery,  and  were  re-captured. 
Meanwhile,  he  himself,  returning  to  the  region  in  which 
he  was  born,  has  found  his  yet  surviving  mother  and 
his  numerous  brothers  and  sisters,  who  are  living  in 
and  near  Philadelphia.  He  has  also  found  friends  and 
benefactors,  as  he  has  travelled  from  place  to  place,  in 
the  enterprise  of  collecting  the  exorbitant  sum  which 
is  demanded  for  the  liberty  of  his  wife  and  children. 

"  I  have  examined  his  papers  and  am  convinced  of 
their  authenticity,  and  of  his  entire  honesty  and  re- 
liableness. The  letter  from  the  legal  owner  of  his  wife 
and  children  is  especially  worth  studying. 

"1.EONAKD   BACON. 
«  New  Haven,  23d  June,  1854." 

In  New  Haven,'  Peter  remained  until  about  the 
middle  of  July ;  and  we  find,  by  referring  to  his  re- 
gistry, that  he  received  donations  in  that  city  from 
more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  persons.  In  the  list 
of  his  benefactors — Heaven  bless  them  all — we  find 
"  Carpenter's  Millinery  Help"  " Ladies  in  Shirt  Fac- 
tory" "  Workmen  in  Clock  Factory"  "  Young  Ladies  of 
Miss  Button's  School"  " Lancastrian  School"  " Ladies 
of  the  Rubber  Factory"  and  "  Pupils  of  Webster  High 
School."  We  also  find  one  contribution  set  down  as — 
"  Money  Lent."  Yea,  verily,  "  HE  that  hath  pity  on  the 


334          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE  RANSOMED. 

poor  lendeth  to  the  LORD  ;  that  which  he  hath  given  will 
he  pay^him  again"  In  the  same  long  list  we  see 
" Anti-Abolition"  and  then,  "A  Slaveholder"  and 
again,  "A  Slaveholder  patterning  after  Abolitionists" 

After  receiving  three  hundred  dollars  in  New 
Haven,  our  traveller  went  up  to  Hartford,  and  there, 
also,  he  received  three  hundred  dollars.  Thence,  with 
a  grateful  heart,  he  went  to  Wethersfield,  where  he  re- 
mained three  days,  and  collected  twenty-one  dollars. 
August  seventh,  we  find  him  at  Middletown,  Ct.,  where 
in  one  week,  he  received  one  hundred  and  twenty-six 
dollars. 

"While  in  Middletown  he  encountered  a  lady  who  in 
consequence  of  marrying  a  Northern  man,  had  been 
transplanted  there  from  South  Carolina.  She  assured 
Peter  that  the  slaves  were  far  better  off  than  free  ne- 
groes. "Indeed,  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  she,  "for 
my  mother  owns  plenty  of  them,  and  not  one  of  them 
is  obliged  to  work  so  hard  as  I  do  myself.  Here  the 
free  negroes  are  begging  around,  many  of  them  half- 
starved,  and  some  of  them  stealing  and  going  to  prison." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  Peter,  "they  do  that,  both 
white  and  colored.  It  is  not  the  colored  people  alone 
that  beg  and  steal ;  and  I  have  been  told  that  there  are 
more  white  people  in  the  prisons  than  black  ones,  any 
how." 

"  Well,  that  may  be,  but  they  are  better  off  in  the 
South,  where  they  are  all  taken  good  care,  of." 

"  So  I  came  away  and  left  her,"  said  Peter,  as  he 
related  this  incident,  "  but  I  couldn't  help  wishin'  I 
knowed  whether  she'd  like  to  be  a  happy,  well-fed 
slave  herself." 

The  next  week  he  spent  in  Meriden,  where  he  col- 


"HOW  DID  HE   GET  THE   MOXEY  ?"  335 

lected  eighty  dollars ;  and  August  22d  we  find  him  at 
Bridgeport.  Here,  also,  he  found  many  friends; 
though  at  one  house  where  he  called,  he  met  a  violent 
rebuff.  The  master  met  him  at  the  door ;  and  Peter,  as 
was  his  custom,  modestly  proffered  his  request — pre- 
senting at  the  same  time  his  papers.  The  gentleman 
did  not  wait  to  examine  these,  but  proceeded  in  a  loud 
voice  to  curse  him  "mightily."  ''  I  know,"  cried  he, 
"it's  all  a  d — d  lie.  There's  a  parcel  always  coming 
round  telling  their  lies.  I  don't  believe  one  word  you 
say.  You  ought  to  be  arrested.  There's  a  lazy  pack 
of  you  that  make  it  a  business  to  go  around  whining 
about  having  families  in  slavery.  It's  time  it  was 
stopped."  So  saying,  he  turned  his  back  upon  the 
the  suppliant;  and  Peter  quietly  walked  down  the 
steps  and  into  the  street. 

On  mentioning  this  incident  in  town,  he  learned 
that  this  gentleman  himself  had  property  in  slaves. 
Another  slaveholder  in  the  same  town  he  called  upon, 
who  received  him  kindly,  and  assured  him  that,  though 
slavery  was  not  so  bad  after  all  as  he  imagined,  yet  he 
was  not  to  blame  for  wishing  to  get  his  wife  and  children. 

Notwithstanding  these  slight  ripples  on  the  surface 
of  the  waters,  Peter  received  in  Bridgeport  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty-six  dollars ;  and'  on  the  fifteenth  of 
September,  he  had  found  his  way  to  New  London. 
Here  the  friends  of  humanity  contributed  one  hundred 
and  fifteen  dollars  for  his  aid ;  and  the  good  people  of 
Norwich,. whose  charity  he  next  besought,  gave  him 
one  hundred  dollars. 

The  first  of  October  found  him  at  Northampton, 
and  though  he  staid  not  long,  yet  those  in  that  town 
who  "had  pity  on  the  poor"  gave  him  forty-five  dollars. 


THE  MUESfAPPED  AXD  THE  BAXSOMBU 

Gave  more  Peter  directed  his  steps  toward  Syra- 
cuse. How  'liflmitnt  were  the  emotions  that  now 
aatiHul  his  heart  from  thane  which  dwelt  there  when 
he  fast  approached  that  city,  may  be  inferred  from  the 
following  extract  from  a  letter  written  at  A»»  thnft  by 
a  friend,  who  from  the  first  had  watched  his  progress 
with  the  deepest  interest : 

~It  •••'•••Mi  aliaffifit  a  hopeless  "••Mlyi  i«Hmr  The 
idea  of  raising  -fire  thousand  dollars,  by  the  simple 
rechal,  la  his  own  uncultured  words*  of  his  strangely 
interesting  story  was  certainly  not  probable ;  and.  bat 
for  the  wonderful  Proridences  that  had  restored  him 
to  his  mother,  and  for  his  earnest  faitlf  in  "K»  ffiiBWi'ii 
of  his  yiOJecA,  it  would  hare  seemed  Kke  mockery  to 
him  to  go  on.  But  that  simple  faith  was 
and  he  went  out.  Whoever  he  met  noble 
generous  natures,  there  he  ptUKiited  his  plea  for  aid — 
and  not  in  rain.  Many  of  America's  proudest  names 

:     -   :   '/.-  .  _:_:    _•  :      -:•  ""„:     ..;_•.'.:      .  :.._ 

his  true  heart  by  kindly  words  and  generous  gifts. 
7~_7  V;-:  ..-  ::  ::::  A/.-V  r  .:  .1  r-:--  -.;--..:  .  ": 
who  has  said,  ^  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the 
least  of  these,  my  laiftira,  ye  hare  done  it  unto  me/ 
win  not  fivget  their  labor  of  lore. 

The  $5,000  is  ready.  It  is  a  great  price  to  pay  the 
mean  man,  who  has  appropriated  to  himself  all  their 
part  jcaia  of  hard  labor.  But  they  are  his  property — 
amstitmtioiuity;  and  he  must  be  well  paid  for  all  the 
care  md  mfikfulmi  i  which  he  has  eAmiaud  in  their 
behaK.  How  long!  Oh!  how  long  shafl  soch  mockery 
eoatl 

But  htde  more,  we  trust,  remains  fir  oar  patipnt 
to  do  before  he  ahifl  him  all  thiiijji  11 1  ni|,i  <1 


"HOW  DID  HE  GET  THE  MOSTET?^  337 

for  the  exit  of  those  loved  ones  from  Ac  houae  of 

bondage.  There  are  no  doubt  kind  hearts  thai  will 
still  find  pleasure  in  ai=ga=±mg  to  raise  the  sum  neces- 
sary to  defray  their  travelling  expenses. 

"Oh!  that  the  journey  were  commenced!  Hut 
journev  which  will  end  in  such  a  joyfol  embrace  fcf 
husband  and  wife,  father  and  children :  so  nopelessly 
separated — so  rapturously  met.  Beyond  the  power  of 
the  master — far  from  the  sound  of  theoveneerfswKip; 
free!  FKEE !  and  all  Vxptfher  !  Heaven  speed  the  boor 
tJiqj  shall  bring  them  release ! 

In  Syracuse  he  received  letters  from  Bev.  Mr.  May 
to  Eev.  G.  W.  Hosmer,  Buffalo,  also  to  Rer.  Dr.  WiHis, 
T.  Henning,  Esq.,  and  Rev.  J.  B.  Smith,  of  Toronto, 
C.  W. 

The  eleventh'  of  October  saw  liim  in  Buffalo),  where, 
through  the  kind  offices  of  Rev.  Dr.  Hosmer,  and 
Peter's  friend,  Mrs,  Legrand  Marvin,  who  had  known 
hiin  well  during  a  previous  residence  of  several  years 
in  Alabama,  he  received  eighty  dollars.  On  tie  thir- 
teenth, he  crossed  to  Toronto — not  for  Ifoe  purpose  of 
soliciting  funds  but  merely  "  to  see  iow  his  brethren 
(the  fugitives  from  slavery)  prospered,"  and  u  to  enjoy 
the  pleasures  of  treading  for  once  upon  free  KnL*  Here 
he  spent  the  Sabbath,  visited  two  q«<«BgJ  churches, 
and  gratefully  received  a  present  of  fifteen  dollars. 

The  next  Sabbath  found  hi-m  at  the  little  village  of 
Camillas,  X.  Y.  Here  he  had  manv  friends,  who  kid 
long  been  watching  his  career,  and  praying  for  his  ul- 
timate success.  He  had  not  previously  calkd  on  them 
for  contributions,  but  at  this  time  ooBeetioBB 
taken  up  for  hi-m  in  both  the  churches.  u  He 
15 


338          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

ceed  without  our  aid,"  said  Kev.  Mr.  Bush,  of  the 
Methodist  Church,  "  but  we  cannot  afford  to  lose  this  op- 
portunity.'1'1 To  this  sentiment  each  heart  responded. 
During  the  day  he  received  sixty-three  dollars;  and 
heartfelt  prayers  were  offered  for  his  speedy  re-union 
to  those  for  whose  ransom  he  had  so  faithfully  labored. 
He  now  resolved  to  return  to  Burlington,  and  thence 
to  Philadelphia,  for  the  purpose  of  completing  the  ar- 
rangements for  the  purchase  of  his  family  before  the 
coming  of  winter.  Negotiations  had  been  opened, 
some  months  before,  by  Mr.  Hallowell,  a  wealthy  mer- 
chant of  Philadelphia,  with  Mr.  John  Simpson,  of 
Florence,  Ala.,  who  had  agreed,  as  soon  as  the  requi- 
site funds  should  be  forwarded  to  him,  to  buy  the 
family  for  Peter.  Accordingly,  soon  after  Peter's  re- 
turn to  Philadelphia,  his  friends  in  that  city  having 
contributed  the  balance  of  the  sum  necessary  to  defray 
the  expenses  of  their  journey,  a  clerk  of  the  house  of 
Hallowell  &  Co.  was  sent  to  Florence  with  the  money ; 
and  with  instructions  to  receive  the  family,  and  to  con- 
duct them  to  their  future  home  among  the  free. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

EXPERIENCE    OF    THE    RETURNED 
FIJaiTIVES. 

BEFOEE  noon  on  Saturday,  the  fifth  of  April,  1851, 
Vina  and  her  children  returned  to  their  deserted  cabin. 
Through  what  an  age  of  anxiety  and  suffering  had 
they  passed  during  the  three  weeks  which  had  elapsed 
since  they  forsook  the  shelter  of  its  lowly  roof.  Then 
the  hope  of  liberty  had  caused  their  hearts  to  throb, 
and  their  dark  eyes  to  gleam  with  an  unwonted  light ; 
now  their  hearts  were  hard,  and  still  in  their  deep 
anguish,  and  a  heavy  shadow  dwelt  beneath  their 
downcast  eyelids. 

The  best  of  the  furniture  and  clothing  which  they 
had  left,  had  all  been  stolen  and  conveyed  away  dur- 
ing their  absence,  but  this  they  heeded  not  in  their 
despair.  True,  many  hours  of  tedious  toil,  by  night, 
had  been  required  to  purchase  these  few  comforts,  but 
now  that  liberty  had  been  rudely  snatched  from  their 
eager  grasp,  they  had  no  tears  to  shed  for  minor  losses. 

At  noon,  the  people  came  in  from  the  field.  Most 
of  them  looked  wistfully  upon  the  captured  fugitives, 
and  when  they  said  "  Howtfy1"  their  voices  had  a 
mournful  tone.  Others,  however,  were  glad  they  had 
been  brought  back,  "bekase,"  they  said,  "  dey's  nuthin' 


340          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

but  niggers,  no  how,  and  dey's  allers  so  mighty  good, 
and  never  gits  de  cowhide;  now  dey'll  des  find  out 
how  good  it  feels  to  git  a  cuttin'  up." 

After  dinner,  the  family  were  sent  out  with  the 
other  hands  to  plant  cotton.  Ah !  their  labor  just  then 
was  greatly  needed,  and  for  that  reason,  probably,  the 
day  of  vengeance  was  postponed.  They  knew  it  was 
not  forgotten;  for  dark  hints  were  often  uttered  in 
their  hearing,  and  threatening  looks  were  cast  upon 
the  runaways. 

In  gloomy  silence  they  pursued  their  regular  labors, 
till  Wednesday  morning,  when  Mr.  McKiernan,  at- 
tended by  Smith,  the  overseer,  entered  the  field.  Vina 
knew  their  errand,  and  her  indignation  rose — but  she 
was  helpless.  She  saw  them  approaching  the  spot 
where  young  Peter  was  at  work,  and  heard  them  order 
him.  to  strip.  Poor  fellow !  he  was  wholly  in  their 
power,  and  he  obeyed. 

There  stood  the  mother  and  counted  the  two  hun- 
dred heavy  lashes  that  fell  upon  the  naked  back  of  her 
first-born  son.  He  bore  his  torture  bravely.  Not  one 
cry  for  mercy  did  he  utter ;  not  one  imploring  look 
did  he  vouchsafe  the  fiends,  who  sought  to  bend  his 
spirit;  and  not  till  they  had  finished,  did  he  speak. 
"  This  is  the  last  time,"  said  he  then  to  the  overseer, 
"  that  you  shall  ever  strike  me.  I  never  will  be  Avhip- 
ped  again  by  any  man." 

"Hush  your  mouth,  you  d — d  rascal,"  cried  his 
master,  "or  I'll  have  as  much  more  put  on  you." 

They  left  the  young  man,  and  came  to  his  mother. 
Smith  attempted  to  tie  her.  "No,  sir,"  said  she,  "I 
don't  belong  to  you,  and  you  aint  gwine  to  whip  me. 
Yer's  my  mass'r — I  belong  to  him,  and  he  may  kill 


EXPEKIENCE   OF  THE   FUGITIVES.  341 

me  if  lie  want  to ;  but  I'm  not  gwine  let  you  tie  me 
nor  whip  me.  You  don't  like  me,  and  I  never  did  like 
you  no  how.  If  my  mass'r  wants  me  beat,  he  must  do 
it  hisself." 

Mr.  McKiernan  was  sitting  on  his  horse,  but  at  this 
he  dismounted,  and  bade  the  overseer  give  him  his 
whip.  Smith  complied,  and  the  chivalrous  master 
ordered  her  to  take  off  her  coat.  He  then  tied  her 
hands,  and  gave  her  less  than  a  hundred  blows,  a 
slight  punishment  for  a  runaway.  He  did  it  very 
gently  too,  for  the  skin,  though  sorely  bruised,  was  not 
cut  by  the  cowhide. 

This  done,  the  two  worthies  repaired  to  the  black- 
smith's shop,  where  Levin  was  at  work ;  and  then  his 
inanly  form  was  bared,  while  the  fierce  lash  of  the 
overseer  whizzed  through  the  air  as  though  it  loved 
the  sport.* 

Catharine  escaped  the  cowhide.  Her  master  ques- 
tioned her  minutely  concerning  her  knowledge  of  the 
plan  of  the  escape,  but  she  appeared  so  ignorant  that 
he  told  the  overseer  it  was  not  worth  while  to  whip 
her.  "  It's  that  devilish  Peter  that's  been  at  the  bottom 
of  all  this,"  said  he,  "and  I  believe  the  Jew  has  done 
the  work.  There's  Catherine,  she  didn't  understand 
any  of  their  plans;  but  her  mother — d — n  her,  she's 

*  Neither  the  stocks  nor  the  runaway's  heavy  irons  were  called 
into  requisition,  why,  we  know  not,  unless  their  very  success  in 
once  reaching  the  Free  States  warned  their  master  against  provok- 
ing another  attempt  at  flight.  The  influence  of  this  overseer  was 
also  opposed  to  such  exhibitions  of  barbarity.  "  Smith,"  Vina 
says,  "  was  mons's  hard  to  chillun,  and  them  women  whar  was 
afeard  of  him,  but  to  the  rest  o'  the  hands,  he  was  as  good  as  any 
o'  the  overseers." 


842          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

got  sense  enough.  It  would  be  just  like  her  to  try  it 
again,  but  she'll  never  go  and  leave  her  daughter. 
She's  always  doted  on  her  girl,  and  I'll  be  d — d  if  I 
blame  her,  for  Catharine  is  a  devilish  likely  wench.  So 
it's  best  to  keep  one  of  them  on  the  island,  I  reckon 
the  old  woman.  She  wouldn't  be  long  starting  off 
again  d — n  her,  if  she  took  it  into  her  head.  She  was 
always  bound  to  have  her  own  way,  though  to  tell  the 
truth,  she's  as  clever  a  woman  as  ever  I  owned." 

The  next  Sunday,  Yina  received  the  order  to  pre- 
pare to  go  to  the  island.  It  did  not  seem  to  move  her. 
"I  don't  keer  whar  they  sends  me,"  said  she,  "any 
place  is  better  'n  this  yer."  So  with  desperate  prompt- 
ness she  packed  up  the  few  articles  necessary  to  furnish 
the  cabin  which  she  was  to  inhabit  there,  and  that  very 
day  she  departed. 

"I  liked  stayin'  on  the  island  a  heap  the  best,"  she 
says,  "out  o'  sight  mostly  of  both  mass'r  and  Missus. 
Me  and  them  had  fell  out,  and  I  didn't  never  want  to 
make  friends  with  'em  no  more.  I  didn't  keer  about 
bein'  called  in  every  time  any  person  was  took  sick, 
and  I  just  determined  that  if  they  ever  sent  for  me 
agin,  I  wouldn't  go  without  they  driv  me  like  a  dog." 

Of  all  the  beating  hearts  on  the  plantation,  none 
thrilled  with  such  a  commingling  of  delight  and  grief 
at  the  return  of  Vina  and  her  family,  as  did  that  of  a 
maiden  named  Susanna. 

She  was  a  bright  mulatto,  the  daughter  of  "Aiint 
Patsey,"  who  for  the  last  few  years,  had  taken  charge 
of  the  young  children.  Susanna  was  a  quiet  well- 
behaved  girl,  that  had  been  raised  on  the  place,  and 
ever  since  they  were  children,  young  Peter  and  herself 
had  loved  each  other.  But  when  his  father  went  away, 


EXPEKIEKCE  OF  THE  FUGITIVES.  343 

and  left  to  his  family  the  assurance  that  if  he  lived 
they  should  be  free.  Peter  determined  to  obey  his 
counsel;  and  so  the  union  of  the  devoted  pair  was 
postponed  for  an  indefinite  period. 

Now  that  their  great  effort  to  achieve  their  liberty 
had  failed,  the  young  man's  heart  would  whisper  that 
perhaps  his  father  would  consider  his  request  no  longer 
binding.  Yet  he  kept  these  thoughts  hid  deep  in  his 
own  breast,  for  he  saw  that  in  his  mother's  heart,  all 
hope  of  freedom  was  not  yet  extinct. 

But  the  master's  watchful  eye  had  long  noticed  their 
attachment,  and,  imagining  that  if  Peter  had  a  wife  he 
would  be  less  likely  to  run  off  again,  he  determined 
that  now  they  should  be  married.  No  favorable  oppor- 
tunity however  occurred  for  him  to  urge  the  matter, 
until  the  crop  .was  laid  by  in  August ;  when,  according 
to  his  annual  custom,  he  gave  his  slaves  a  barbacue. 
Then  he  determined  that  the  marriage  should  take 
place. 

The  long  trench  was  duly  prepared  with  its  bed  of 
glowing  coals,  over  which  were  roasting  numerous  pigs 
and  chickens,  with  the  flesh  of  sheep  and  oxen  in 
abundance.  Peter  was  aiding  in  the  preparation  of  the 
feast,  when  he  was  summoned  into  the  presence  of  his 
master. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  marry  Susanna,  boy  ?" 

"I  don't  care  about  marryin'  any  body  now,  Sir." 

li  But  Susanna  says  she  loves  you,  and  you  ought  t< 
have  her." 

"  No,  Sir,  I  don't  care  about  marryin'  without  my 
people's  willin'." 

"  It's  no  matter  about  your  mother,  boy,  I  give  you 


344        THE    KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

leave,  and  you  needn't  ask  her  anything  about  it.  Go 
and  dress  yourself." 

"  I've  got  nothin'  to  dress  in." 

"Well,  go  and  put  on  clean  clothes,  any  how,  and 
then  come  back  to  me." 

Peter  went  to  his  mother's  cabin.  For  a  time  he 
hesitated,  but  his  master's  command  was  absolute,  and 
he  had  bid  him  hasten.  His  long-years'  love  for 
Susanna  was  not  silent,  but  that  voice  he  knew  how 
to  quell  at  duty's  bidding.  His  mother,  he  could  not 
bear  to  vex  her. 

Half  undecided  what  course  would  be  the  wisest,  he 
dressed  mechanically  in  clean  working-clothes.  (He 
had  a  suit  of  Sunday  clothes  which  he  had  bought 
himself,  but  these  he  would  not  wear  to  please  his 
master)  His  toilette  completed,  he  sat  down  again  to 
think.  He  could  not  long  defer  his  decision,  for  his 
master  would  be  as  angry  at  his  delay,  as  if  he  should 
refuse  obedience  to  his  orders;  so  at  last,  scarcely  know- 
ing whether  he  was  do?' rig  right  or  wrong,  he  left  the 
cabin,  and  approached  the  spot  where  he  had  left 
McKiernan. 

Susanna,  having  previously  received  an  order  from 
her  master  to  dress  and  come  to  him,  was  already 
there. 

One  of  their  fellow-slaves,  a  preacher,  named  William 
Handy  was  DOW  called  to  marry  them ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  they  were  marching  around  the  field  at  the 
head  of  a  troop  of  their  young  companions,  who  with 
gay  songs  and  merry  laughter  were  celebrating  the 
marriage  of  their  friends. 

Vina  soon  heard  what  had  occurred ;  but  she  was 
one  of  the  cooks,  and  she  continued  quietly  to  baste 


EXPERIENCE   OF  THE   FUGITIVES.  345 

the  meat,  though  every  moment  her  wrath  was  rising 
higher.  Levin  stood  bj  her  side,  and  he,  too,  was 
indignant.  Soon  the  master  approached.  "Why  don't 
you  march  with  the  others?"  said  he  to  Yina. 

"I  aint  a  soldier,"  replied  she,  "and  I  don't  know 
nuthin'  about  marchin'." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"  Nuthin'  more'n  common  ;  and  things  that's  com- 
mon yer  is  shockin'  to  strangers." 

"  What's  that  ?     Say  that  again." 

She  repeated  her  words.  "  There's  not  a  plantation 
in  a  million  o'  miles  whar  thar's  such  works  as  thar  is 
yar." 

"  Better  mind  how  you  talk,  girl,  or  I'll  give  you  a 
slap." 

"  I  don't  keer  what  you  do.  I  would  n't  keer  if 
you  killed  him  and  me  too.  You've  done  made  a 
heap  o'  matches,  and  none  of  'em  never  prospered,  no 
how." 

"  Oh,  I  was  so  mad !"  she  says,  "  every  time  I  looked 
down,  'peared  like  I  could  see  sparks  o'  fire  a  comin' 
out  o'  my  eyes.  Then  he  went  to  the  house  and  told 
the  missus  I  was  powerful  mad.  She  'lowed  he  ought 
to  be  ashamed  o'  himself,  kase  she  said  he'd  done  me 
mean,  and  she  did  n't  blame  me  if  I  was  mad.  Well, 
he  said,  when  they  wanted  to  marry,  nobody  should  n't 
hinder  'em.  He'd  marry  'em  hisself  when  he  liked." 

The  young  people  lived  in  the  cabin  with  Aunt 
Patsey,  and  for  some  time  the  current  of  their  lives 
flowed  calmly  on.  After  about  a  year,  a  little  boy 
was  folded  to  Susanna's  breast — a  fine,  -"  peart,"  healthy 
child.  She  named  him  Edmund  ;  and  he  soon  became 
very  dear  to  the  hearts  of  all  his  kindred.  But  Yina, 
15* 


346        THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

now  that  the  tide  which,  had  whelmed  her  in  des- 
pair had  fallen,  li ved  in  hourly  expectation  of  a  sum- 
mons to  her  husband ;  and  she  was  sad  at  the  advent 
of  this  little  one.  She,  too,  loved  the  baby  dearly ; 
but  she  knew  it  formed  another  tie  to  bind  the  young 
father  fast  to  slave-land. 

When  little  Edmund  was  a  few  months  old,  he  was 
seized  with  whooping-cough,  and  then  he  needed  his 
mother's  care.  But  she  was  forced  to  go  each  morn- 
ing to  the  field ;  and  though  Aunt  Patsey  was  not  heed- 
less of  her  little  grandchild,  yet  she  had  so  many  chil- 
dren to  look  after*that  she  could  not  always  watch  him. 
So  he  took  cold,  and  then  his  cough  became  worse ; 
and  week  after  week,  he  continued  to  grow  weaker,  till 
it  was  plain  that  he  could  live  but  little  longer. 

Oh !  how  his  mother  longed  to  stay  in  and  nurse 
him  for  the  last  few  days !  But  in  vain  she  begged 
this  privilege  of  the  overseer — and  when,  in  her  sor- 
row, she  sought  her  mistress,  who  had  seen  four  of 
her  own  little  ones  laid  in  the  grave,  the  lady  sharply 
bade  her  "  Go  out  to  work."  "  It's  no  use,"  said  she, 
"  for  you  to  stay  in — you  don't  know  how  to  take  care 
of  children — if  you  did,  your  baby  never  would  have 
been  so  bad." 

A  week  later,  a  messenger  was  sent  to  the  field  to 
bid  Peter  and  his  wife  come  and  see  the  last  of  their  child; 
and,  first  obtaining  permission  of  the  overseer,  they 
hastened  to  the  cabin.  The  baby  did  not  know  them 
now — and  though  the  young  mother  fondly  kissed  his 
lips,  and  breathed  his  name  in  tenderest  accents,  she 
could  awake  no  answering  smile.  A  fierce  convulsion 
shook  his  little  frame — it  passed — the  child  was  dead. 


EXPEKIENCE   OF  THE   FUGITIVES.  347 

Fond  mother,  who  hast  watched  thy  little  one  by 
day  and  night,  until  the  angels  bore  him  from  thy 
arms,  rememberest  thou  the  anguish  of  that  hour? 
What  torture  would  have  rent  thy  heart  if  thou  hadst 
seen  him  wasting: — dying,  and  all  for  lack  of  care — 
while  thou  wast  forced  to  toil  for  the  gain  of  a  remorse- 
less tyrant !  God  pity  the  mother  who  is  doomed  to 
live — a  slave ! 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  the  mistress,  when  they  told  her 
that  Susanna's  child  was  dead — "  it  will  be  better  off. 
My  life  is  nearly  worried  out  of  me  by  sick  children, 
and  I  am  sure  I  wouldn't  care  if  they  were  all  dead. 
It  is  just  as  well  for  Susanna,  for  it  never  would  have 
done  her  any  good  if  it  had  lived." 

Early  in  the  spring  of  1854,  another  son  was  born 
unto  them,  and  this  they  called  Peter.  Vina  had  now 
come  down  from  the  Island,  and  had  resumed  the 
office  of  general  nurse,  which  she  had  filled  for  many 
years ;  and  when  little  Peter  was  five  weeks  old,  the 
master  asked  her  if  she  thought  Susanna  was  well 
enough  to  go  out. 

"  No,  Sir,"  replied  she,  "  she  aint  over  and  above 
strong,  no  how,  and  she  oughtent  to  go  out  when  the 
weather's  so  bad." 

"  Well,  if  you  think  so,  I  will  give  her  another 
week." 

But  the  overseer  was  "  pushed,"  and  before  three 
days,  Susanna  was  sent  out  to  the  field.  A  heavy  rain 
came  on  soon  after,  which  was  followed  by  a  chilling 
wind. 

"  Please,  Sir,"  said  the  young  mother,  "  may  I  go  to 
the  house?  I'm  mighty  cold,  and  my  side  aches 
powerful." 


348          THE    KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

"  No,  no ;  you  used  to  be  smart  enough,  but  now 
you're  always  complaining,  and  getting  to  be  no  ac- 
count. Go  'long  to  your  work." 

A  week  longer  she  labored,  but  by  that  time  she 
became  so  very  ill  that  they  could  force  her  to  go  out 
no  more.  The  doctor  was  called,  but  he  could  do  but 
little  to  relieve  her. 

Month  after  month  she  lay  in  the  cabin  a  patient 
sufferer,  and  watched  with  a  mother's  interest  the 
growth  of  her  little  Peter.  Poor  baby,  he  was  weak 
and  sickly,  and  she  often  wished  that  she  might  take 
him  with  her  to  that  better  land,  where  there  is  neither 
toil,  nor  pain,  nor  sorrow. 

"  Don't  stay  long,"  said  Susanna,  as  she  saw  Peter 
going  out  of  the  cabin  one  Sunday  morning  in  August, 
"  it's  lonesome  when  you're  gone." 

He  returned  and  sat  down  by  her  side.  All  day 
she  talked  sweetly  to  him  of  that  blest  home  to  which 
she  was  hastening;  for  "  Susanna  was  a  religious  girl," 
and  her  long,  lonely  days  of  sickness  she  had  spent  in 
thinking  of  the  happy  land  above.  "  I'm  gwine  away 
from  you  now,  Peter,"  said  she,  "but  I  shall  leave  our 
little  baby  with  you.  You'll  take  good  care  of  him 
for  my  sake— won'.t  you?  O  Peter,  you'll  be  lone- 
some when  I'm  gone,  but  you  must  think  I'm  happy  ; 
and  it  wont  be  long  before  you'll  come  too." 

Her  eyes  grew  very  bright  as  she  thus  strove  to 
comfort  her  sorrowing  young  husband ;  but  when  the 
sun  went  down  her  eyelids  closed — she  had  gone  home. 


CHAPTER     XXXVI. 

"THEY   TAKE    aOOD    CARE    OF    THEIR 
PROPERTY." 

FOR  more  than  two  years  after  her  return  from  "  dat 
dar  jaunt  to  de  Norf"  Yina  remained  upon  the  island. 
Sometimes  both  of  her  sons  were  with  her  there  ;  but 
Catharine  was  kept  constantly  upon  the  home  place. 

"Well,  girl,"  said  her  master,  some  months  after 
her  return,  "  do  you  remember  the  road  you  travelled 
when  that  rascal  carried  you  all  off?" 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  replied  Vina,  "  I  remember  every  inch 
I  went ;  and  I  could  go  over  it  again  with  mv  eyes 
shot." 

The  boys  also  were  questioned  concerning  their 
knowledge  of  the  route,  and  they  gave  similar  answers ; 
"  though  to  tell  the  truth,"  says  Vina,  "  I  should  n't 
know  no  more  about  it  when  I  got  off  o'  the  river, 
than  if  I  was  blind." 

Their  prompt  assertions  that  they  knew  "  every  inch 
of  the  road,"  did  not  diminish  their  master's  fear  that 
they  might  repeat  the  attempt  to  escape,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  take  every  possible  means  to  prevent  another 
trial.  But  he  could  not  control  his  own  base  passions ; 
and  though  Vina  never  smiled,  and  seldom  spoke 
cheerfully  in  his  presence,  his  evil  nature  impelled  him 

[849] 


350         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

to  make  one  more  effort  to  accomplish  the  base  pur- 
pose in  which,  years  before,  she  had  so  signally  foiled 
him.  Her  gloom,  the  consequence  of  disappointed 
hope  and  stern  resolve  to  make  another  effort  to  escape 
his  hated  rule,  he  construed  into  the  effect  of  shame  at 
her  disgrace ;  and  now,  if  ever,  he  deemed  he  might 
succeed  in  depriving  her  of  her  honor. 

It  was  winter.  She  was  upon  the  island  engaged  in 
picking  up  trash  and  burning  it  to  prepare  the  land  for 
plowing. 

The  master  came,  and  sat  down  by  the  fire.  She 
took  no  notice  of  his  approach,  but  continued  picking 
up  the  rubbish,  and  adding  it  to  the  heap. 

"  Vina !     O,  Yina !" 

She  did  not  answer — there  was  something  in  his 
tone  that  made  her  angry. 

"Girl!  O,  Girl!     Come  here!" 

She  turned  her  head  towards  him,  but  continued  her 
work. 

"  Here — this  fire  don't  burn  much." 

"  No,  sir — its  just  kindled — it  '11  burn  to-reck'ly." 

"Well,  you  bring  some  more  trash  to  crowd  in 
here." 

She  brought  him  a  handful  of  sticks. 

"  Look  here,  Vina,"  said  he  in  his  most  insinuating 
tone,  "I  intend  to  stay  here  on  the  island  to-night — 
won't  you  come  to  my  house,  and  stay  with  me  ?" 

"  "What  you  mean,  sir,  by  askin'  me  such  a  thing  as 
that  ?  You  mought  as  well  sing  a  psalm  to  a  dead  cow 
as  to  name  such  a  thing  as  that  to  me.  I  hav  n't  forgot 
how  you've  used  me  and  my  chillern  just  bekase  I 
done  what  any  person  else  would  do.  I  did  n't  do  no 
wrong,  and  I  ain't  ashamed  o'  goin'  off;  but  you  ought 


CAREFUL   OF  THEIE  PROPERTY.  351 

to  be  ashamed,  sir,  to  talk  to  me  this  way — after  my 
knowin'  all  about  you  that  I  do." 

"Well,  now  look  here,"  urged  the  gracious  master, 
"I've  forgiven  all  that — it's  all  dead  and  buried." 

"  ISTo,  sir,  it  ain't  buried  so  but  what  I  can  scratch  it 
up,  and  it  never  will  be  forgot — not  by  me." 

"  Well,  won't  you  come  to  my  house  ?  If  you  will, 
I'll  do  all  I  can  for  you ;  aud  you  never  shall  want  for 
anything." 

"  No,  sir,  I  never  will  come  to  your  house.  Thar's 
a  little  old  hut  yon',  that  you  built  for  me,  whar  don't 
keep  the  rain  out  nights ;  I  cun  stay  thar  like  I  has 
done.  You  think  I  done  forgot  seein'  poor  Lydia, 
only  a  few  months  ago,  bucked  down  afore  that  very 
door  o'  yourn,  and  all  the  five  hundred  blows  the  poor 
thing  tuck  just  for  you  ?" 

"Well,  I  did  n't  do  that." 

"  No,  sir,  but  your  son  did ;  and  your  wife  sent  him 
the  note  tellin'  him  to  whip  her  till  he  just  left  the 
breath  o'  life  in  her,  and  Aunt  Lucy  heard  him  a 
readin'  the  note.  Thar  in  the  mornin',  when  thar's  a 
white  fross  on  the  ground,  she  was  stripped  by  your 
son — a  right  young  man,  not  of  age  yet,  and  beat  with 
whips  and  an  oak  paddle  as  thick  as  my  hand  till  the 
breath  was  a' most  gone  out  of  her  body.  That  too, 
after  you'd  whipped  her  yourself  for  killin'  her  child. 
She  wouldn't  a  killed  it  only  'twas  yourn,  and  she 
knowed  what  she'd  suffer  about  it  if  it  was  seen.* 
You  mighty  good' — it's  all  honey  till  you  gits  girls  into 
trouble,  and  then  you  walks  off — and  leaves  'em  to 

*  The  whole  history  of  the  afiair  here  referred  to  is  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  writer,  but  it  is  too  horrid  for  publication. 


352         THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

b'ar  all  the  'buse  they  gits.  And  it 's  good  enough  for 
'em  if  they'll  be  fooled  by  you  when  they  knows  you 
so  well.  Now,  wouldn't  it  be  mighty  strange  if  I 
did  n't  hate  you,  knowin'  so  much  about  your  ways  as 
I  does.  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  never  did  like  you,  and  I 
never  shall." 

"The  devil!  Don't  you  stand  there,  and  tell  me 
you  don't  like  me." 

"Well,  sir,  it  ain't  no  hurt  to  tell  the  truth ;  and  that 
is  so — I  don't  like  you,  and  I  don't  want  to  hear  no 
more  such  talk  as  you  talked  to  me  to-day." 

"  Well,  you  think  of  it,"  said  he,  returning  to  his 
softest  tone — "  and  you'd  better  do  as  I  want  you  to." 

"  It 's  no  use  talkin' — I  '11  never  put  myself  in  your 
power  while  I  live." ' 

"  What's  that  girl's  name  of  yours  ?" 

"What  girl?"    ' 

"  Why,  your  daughter,  there." 

"  You  knows  her  name,  sir,  just  as  well  as  I  does. 
You  done  knowed  her  from  the  day  she's  born.  Her 
name  Catharine — why,  what  you  gwine  say  'bout 
her?" 

"  I  say  she's  a  devilish  likely  girl,  and  I ' 

"  Now,  mass'r  I  wants  to  tell  you — if  you  ever  comes 
a  foolin'  round  her,  you'll  be  sorry.  You  know  I 
never  said  I'd  do  a  thing,  but  I  done  it,  or  least  ways, 
tried ;  and  if  my  girl  ever  consents  to  your  mean  ways, 
I'll  kill  her  or  you — one.  I  rather  die  a  peaceable 
death  'an  to  be  hung,  but  just  as  sure  as  you  meddles 
with  my  daughter,  I'll  do  what  I  say.  I  ain't  gwine  to 
see  her  like  the  other  girls  yer,  whar  you  been  the 
means  o'  gettin'  all  cut  to  pieces." 

The  master  walked  away.     He  had  listened  to  such 


CAREFUL  OF  THEIR  PROPERTY.  353 

a  lecture  as  lie  seldom  received  ;  and  from  that  time  lie 
ceased  to  torment  the  resolute  woman  that  dared  to 
speak  the  truth  even  to  his  face.  Vina  was  very  im- 
pudent. He  might  have  killed  her  on  the  spot ;  but 
she  knew  he  would  not  strike  her.  Her  just  and  fear- 
less words,  slave  though  she  was,  shielded  herself  and 
the  daughter  that  she  loved  from  further  insults. 

Notwithstanding  that  during  their  absence  their 
cabin  had  been  robbed  of  nearly  all  its  comforts,  yet 
on  their  return  from  their  unfortunate  journey  North- 
ward, Yina  and  her  family  resumed  their  former  in- 
dustrious habits.  The  boys  cultivated  their  patches 
as  had  been  their  custom,  and  saved  every  penny 
which  they  gained,  in  order  to  fulfil  their  father's  in- 
junction—  to  provide  every  thing  needful  for  their 
mother's  comfort.  Meantime,  Vina  and  Catharine 
labored  faithfully  both  nights  and  Sundays,  and  the 
well-mended  garments  and  warm  stockings  that  the 
brothers  wore  testified  to  the  skill  with  which  their 
fingers  wrought. 

During  the  summer  of  1853  the  patches  yielded 
well,  and  the  people  had  all  their  little  crops  secured 
before  Christmas.  They  were  obliged  to  sell  them  to 
their  master,  as  had  ever  been  his  rule;  and  when 
they  were  all  ready,  the  overseer  weighed  the  corn 
and  cotton  they  had  raised,  and  promised  them  to  see 
that  all  was  right.  The  master  affected  to  rejoice  in 
their  success  ;  and  told  them  to  come  to  him  the  first 
day  of  Christmas,  and  he  would  pay  them. 

Accordingly,  when  Christmas  came  they  all,  accom- 
panied by  the  overseer,  went  to  the  house  to  receive 
their  money. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  master,  "I  havn't  got  the 


354:         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

money  now ;  but  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  Every  one 
of  you,  big  and  little,  that  wants  to  go  to  town,  may 
go  to-morrow,— and  I'll  go  too,  and  pay  you  all  in 
town.  I've  got  the  promise  of  some  money  that  is 
due  me  there  to-morrow." 

"Aha!"  said  Yina,  as  they  came  away,  "I  know 
how  it  will  be — you  all  won't  git  no  money  to-morrow. 
He  aint  gwine  pay  no  money,  and  I  wont  go." 

But  her  companions  could  not  believe  that  their 
master  would  thus  deceive  them ;  and  the  next  morn- 
ing the  whole  plantation  force  climbed  into  the  huge 
wagons  and  took  the  road  to  Tuscumbia. 

To  one  unused  to  Christmas  sights  in  slave-land  a 
more  grotesque  spectacle  than  was  presented  by  these 
loaded  wagons  could  scarcely  be  imagined.  »There 
were  old  women  with  red  and  yellow  turbans — stiff- 
starched  and  tall — and  a  score  of  boys  and  girls — some 
with  bare  heads,  and  others  glorying  in  comical  old 
rimless  hats  and  bonnets,  in  styles  unknown  to  Paris 
milliners. 

Then  there  were  sage  uncles  and  prim  young  girls 
who  were  anxious  to  show  off  their  best  behavior 
"  gwine  to  town" — and  these  sat  up  stately  and  stiff; 
while  those  less  dignified,  with  laugh,  and  song,  and 
frolic,  and  grimace,  reminded  them  that  "  Christmas 
time"  would  not  last  all  the  year. 

The  master  met  them  as  he  had  promised  at  the 
store  of  Mr.  N — ,  and  there,  instead  of  paying  them 
the  money,  he  selected  a  lot  of  poor  damaged  calico, 
and  called  the  women  to  choose  each  of  them  a  dress. 
They  looked  at  each  other  in  consternation.  Here 
was  the  fruit  of  all  their  toil !  Nights  and  holidays 
they  had  spent  for  this — a  few  yards  of  mean  thin 


CAEEFUL  OF  THEIR  PROPERTY.       355 

calico,  that  would  not  pay  for  making  up.  Their  eyes 
rolled  angrily  and  their  lips  pouted  the  displeasure 
which  they  dared  not  speak ;  and  so  the  calico  was 
measured  off,  though  in  their  hearts  they  scorned  the 
mean-spirited  wretch  who  could  thus  stoop  to  cheat 
them. 

One  or  two,  however,  rebelled.  .Catharine  went 
quietly  and  selected  something  for  herself.  "  Ugh !" 
said  her  master,  "that's  too  dear." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "if  I  can't  have  that,  I  don't  want 
none  at  all." 

He  finally  yielded  and  allowed  her  to  take  what 
she  had  chosen.  But  when  Amanda,  a  middle-aged 
woman,  followed  her  example,  and  sought  such  goods 
as  would  make  comfortable  clothes  for  her  children, 
he  swore  she  should  take  such  as  the  others  had,  or 
none  at  all. 

"No,  sir,"  said  she,  "I  wouldn't  walk  out  de  store 
with  such  stuff  as  dat  dar.  I  done  worked  hard  all 
dis  year  to  make  a  crap,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  cheated 
now.  I  got  a  house  full  of  chillern,  and  dey's  all 
mighty  nigh  naked,  and  I  want  something  decent  to 
make  clothes  for  'em.'; 

"  Hush  your  mouth  !  you  huzzy  1"  cried  her  master, 
"you  shall  take  what  I  give  you." 

"  "Well,  sir,  if  you  clont  git  me  what  I  want,  I'll  git 
it  'fore  de  year's  out.  If  I  can't  git  full  pay  for  my 
crap  one  way,  I  will  another." 

He  raised  his  hand  to  strike  her. 

"  I  don't  keer  if  you  does  whip  me.  I'm  gwine  to 
have  my  rights  if  I  cun  git  'em." 

This  peculiar  shopping  ended,  the  whole  company 
returned  home  in  ill  humor.  "I  told  you  so,"  said 


356          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   EANSOMED. 

Vina,  "  I  knowed  lie  wasn't  gwine  to  pay  you  all  for 
yer  craps.  He  didn't  have  no  money  promised  him 
in  town,  no  how.  That's  the  re.ason  I  wouldn't  go. 
I  wasn't  gwine  to  foller  him  off  to  town  for  money, 
when  I  knowed  he  wasn't  gwine  to  give  it." 

Vina  had  not  been  many  months  on  the  island  before 
her  mistress  began  to  wish  for  her  presence  on  the 
home  place.  She  was  an  excellent  nurse  in  sickness, 
and  for  many  years  she  had  been  called  in  to  wait 
upon  any  of  the  white  family  that  chanced  to  be  ill ; 
and  so  faithful  and  competent  was  she,  that  when 
Yina  was  in  the  sick-room  the  mother  felt  no  uneasi- 
ness. Among  the  slaves  her  field  was  wider,  for  there, 
unless  in  extraordinary  cases,  she  was  both  doctor  and 
nurse. 

At  last  Mrs.  McKiernan  told  her  husband  that  they 
must  get  Yina  back,  or  they  never  should  raise  any 
more  children.  "  The  trouble  with  them  commenced," 
said  she,  "when  Yina  and  her  family  first  ran  off, 
and  since  that  time  there  has  been  nothing  but  bad 
luck  with  both  the  women  and  children.  There's 
Delphia  might  have  been  alive  now  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  those  fools  of  doctors." 

"  Well,  Yina,"  said  the  master,  when  she  had  been 
more  than  two  years  on  the  island,  "how  would  you 
like  to  go  back  to  the  low  place  ?" 

"  I  don't  keer  'bout  gwine  back,  sir."- 

' '  But  your  mistress  says  she  would  like  to  have  you 
back.  Several  of  the  women  will  be  sick  soon,  and 
she  wants  you  there." 

"  I  don't  want  nuthin'  to  do  with  'em,  sir ;  you  done 
sent  me  off  yer  out  o'  spite,  and  now  the  sick  ones  may 


CAEEFUL  OF  THEIR  PROPERTY.  357 

take  care  o'  their  selves.     I  ain't  gwine  to  be  runnin' 
after  'cni." 

""Well,  if  you  don't  go  now,  you  may  not  get  a 
chance  when  you  do  want  to  go." 

"  I  don't  keer  nuthin'  'bout  it,  sir ;  I  don't  want  to 
go  thar,  never." 

After  a  few  weeks,  however,  she  packed  up  the  few 
cooking  utensils  which  she  had  there  with  two  or  three 
other  articles  of  furniture,  and  went  home  to  the  cabin 
which  Peter  had  built  for  her  so  many  years  before. 
Still  she  was  dark  and  gloomy — her  heart  had  lost  its 
light ;  and  though  she  did  not  quite  despair,  yet  her 
chance  of  meeting  her  beloved  husband  seemed  to 
lessen  day  by  day.  But  now  there  was  much  sickness 
on  the  place ;  and  in  sympathy  with  the  suffering  of 
her  sisters,  she  found  transient  forgetf ulness  of  her  own 
griefs. 

Delphia,  to  whom  reference  was  made  by  Mrs.  Mc- 
Kiernan,  died  a  few  days  after  Vina  ran  off ;  and  her 
story,  though  it  reveals  a  course  of  cruelty  too  base 
even  for  savages,  sho^s  but  another  phase  of  slavery. 

Smith,  the  overseer,  at  that  time,  was  severe,  as  has 
before  been  stated,  only  towards  children,  or  those 
women  who  were  afraid  of  him.  "  He  knowed,"  says 
Vina,  "  the  people  mostly  would  fight  him  if  he  tried 
to  beat  'em,  and  so  he  managed  to  do  without  much 
beatin'.  But  them  whar's  feared  of  him  fared  mons's 
hard — 'pears  like  he  never  knows  when  to  stop,  if  he 
gits  mad  at  one  o'  them  kind." 

Smith  had  a  great  deal  of  company  on  Sundays ; 
and  as  the  overseers  are  furnished  by  their  employers 
with  corn  and  bacon  for  their  families,  as  well  as  flour, 


358        THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

coffee,  and  sugar,  so  many  guests  were  quite  expensive 
to  Mr.  McKiernan. 

One  Sunday  afternoon,  he  walked  down  to  the  quar- 
ter, and  saw  two  horses  hitched  at  the  overseer's  gate. 

"  Whose  horses  are  these  ?"  asked  he  of  a  group  of 
'  women  that  stood  near. 

Delphia  chanced  to  reply. 

"  Smith  has  a  heap  of  company,  don't  he?"  said  the 
master. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Delphia,  "last  Sunday  thar  was  six 
horses  hitched  to  his  fence,  and  every  one  of  'em  was 
carried  off,  and  fed." 

Some  evil-minded  tale-bearer  took  the  first  oppor- 
tunity to  report  this  conversation  to  the  overseer ;  and 
he  was  enraged. 

A  few  days  after,  the  master  plainly  expressed  his 
opinion  to  Mr.  Smith  respecting  the  number  of  his 
guests,  adding  that  he  knew  it  was  so,  for  he  saw  them 
there  himself. 

"  You  did  not  see  them,"  said  Smith,  "  you  were  not 
in  sight  when  they  were  here?  Some  nigger  has  told 
you ;  and  it  is  no  other  than  that  lying,  tattling  wench, 
Delphia." 

From  that  hour  he  vowed  vengeance  on  the  poor 
woman ;  swearing  at  the  same  time  there  were  other 
ways  to  kill  a  cow  besides  shooting  her  or  knocking 
her  in  the  head. 

Thereafter,  he  never  gave  Delphia  a  moment's  rest. 
She  was  one  of  the  plow  women ;  and  though  she  was 
not  in  a  condition  to  bear  extreme  fatigue,  he  com- 
pelled her  day  after  day  to  plow  with  her  mule  in  a 
trot.  She  dared  not  stop,  for  his  eye  was  ever  on  her ; 


CAREFUL  OF  THEIR  PROPERTY.  359 

and  when  the  other  women  told  her  she  was  killing 
herself,  she  only  replied,  "  You  know  how  Smith  hates 
me,  and  he  will  beat  me  to  death  if  I  don't  mind  him." 

Thus  week  after  week,  she  ran  all  day  in  the  plow, 
till  at  last  she  was  forced  to  stop,  and  she  went,  with 
her  mule,  to  the  quarter.  Smith  was  at  his  house,  and 
he  saw  her  coming. 

"  What  are  you  there  for ;"  cried  he. 

"  I'm  sick,  sir,  I  can't  work." 

"  No,  you're  not  sick.  You  need  n't  put  out  your 
mule — tie  him  there ;  and  in  just  two  hours  you  shall 
go  out  again.  I'll  give  you  that  long  to  rest." 

She  went  into  her  cabin,  and  in  less  than  two  hours 
the  doctor  was  sent  for.  Before  night,  poor  Delphia 
lay  still  and  cold  in  death,  with  her  dead  baby  by  her 
side. 

As  two  of  her  fellow-slaves  were  digging  her  grave 
the  overseer  came  up.  He  jumped  down  into  the  nar- 
row house  they  were  hollowing  for  his  victim — 
"  There,"  said  he  with  an  oath,  "  this  is  the  place  where 
all  liars  and  tattlers  ought  to  go." 

But  that  not  the  overseers  alone  were  spiteful  and 
even  murderous  in  their  barbarity,  may  be  inferred 
from  the  following  incident,  which  occurred  soon  after 
Yina  went  home  from  the  island. 

A  woman,  named  Leah,  was  taken  sick  in  the  field, 
and  her  master  being  near,  she  went  to  him  for  permis- 
sion to  go  to  the  house. 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  want  to  go  to  the  house 
for?" 

"  I  'm  sick,  sir." 

"Sick,  d — n  you!  go  to  work;  and  if  I  hear  any 
more  of  your  complaining,  I'll  give  you  something  to 


360         THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE   EANSOMED. 

complain  about."  So  saying,  he  gave  her  a  few  cuts 
with  his  cowhide,  in  token  of  what  she  might  expect 
if  she  repeated  her  request,  and  she  went  back. 

But  she  grew  worse ;  and  not  daring  to  leave  the 
field  without  permission,  she  went  again  to  her  master. 

"  It 's  a  devilish  lie.  You  are  not  sick ;  if  you  are, 
I  can  cure  you.'-'  With  these  words  he  flew  at  her, 
and  beat  her  cruelly;  after  which,  with  kicks  and 
curses,  he  sent  her  back  to  her  work. 

It  was  impossible  for  her  to  remain  much  longer. 
She  started  to  leave  the  field,  and  Vina,  who  had  been 
a  witness  of  the  scene,  followed  her  to  her  cabin.  AVe 
give  what  followed  in  her  own  words. 

"  In  about  a  half  hour,  her  child  was  born,  and  such 
a  sight  as  that  child  was  would  make  any  person  cry 

that  has  any  heart  at  all. 
•*######### 

The  overseer's  wife  was  thar,  and  she  was  shocked 
mightily.  She  called  her  husband,  and  he  come  and 
looked  at  it;  and  two  gentlemen,  whar  was  thar  a 
visitin'  him,  they  see  it  too ;  and  they  all  'lowed  they 
never  see  nuthin'  like  it  in  all  their  lives. 

"  Well,  I  staid,  and  done  all  I  could  for  Leah,  and 
dressed  the  baby — for  it  was  livin'  after  all,  and  when 
I  got  all  done,  I  went  up  to  the  house  to  tell  Missus. 
Mass'r  was  a  sittin'  by,  but  I  never  stopped  for  him — 
I  told  her  the  whole  story,  and  all  about  the  beatin' 
too.  She  hated  it  mightily,  partic'lar  when  I  told  her 
'bout  the  overseer  and  them  other  two  white  men  seein' 
it.  'That's  just  like  you,'  says  she  to  Mass'r,  'you're 
always  bringing  some  disgrace  on  this  plantation.  The 
report  of  this  will  go  all  over  the  country.' 

"  'Why,  I  did'nt  know  she  was  sick,'  says  he. 


CAKEFUL   OF  THEIE  PKOPERTY.  361 

"  '  Yes,  you  did  know  it,  she  told  you  she  was  sick, 
and  if  she  had  not,  you  might  have  known  better  than 
to  beat  her  so,  and  she  in  such  a  state.  You  did  it  on 
purpose  to  disgrace  yourself,  and  the  plantation,  it  is 
just  like  you.  I'll  order  my  carriage,  and  go  away 
till  the  talk  about  this  is  over.  It  is  just  the  way  you 
always  do — just  like  you.' 

"  That's  all  the  comfort  Leah  got  from  Missus.  She 
was  mighty  sorry  to  have  folks  know  such  works  was 
a  gwine  on,  but  she  didn't  never  do  much  for  them 
whar  was  a  sufferin'.  If  she  could  keep  cl'ar  o'  the 
disgrace,  that  thar  was  all  she  cared  for. 

"  Leah's  baby  lived  a  week,  and  I  reckon  it  was  a 
good  thing  it  died,  for  'peared  like  it  suffered  a  heap 
all  the  time.  Oh  !  it  aint  no  wonder  so  many  o'  their 
chillun  dies,  its  more  wonder  that  any  of  'em  lives 
when  the  women  has  to  b'ar  so  much." 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

THE    RE-UNION. 

» 
TOWARDS  the  close  of  the  year  1854,  their  being  no 

immediate  need  of  Vina's  presence  on  the  "  low  place," 
she  went  back  to  the  island.  Susanna  had  died  during 
the  summer,  and  now  the  boys  were  both  with  their 
mother,  leaving  Catharine  sole  tenant  of  the  old  home 
cabin. 

"  The  island,"  although  it  was  five  miles  above  the 
home  plantation,  was  not  a  lonely  place.  There  were 
good  neighbors  on  the  river  bank  opposite,  and  with 
some  of  these,  the  slaves  who  were  kept  here,  formed 
lasting  friendships ;  even  Yina,  though  she  had  been 
so  morose  and  sad  during  these  last  years,  had  not  been 
unmindful  of  the  sympathy  of  her  own  people. 

On  Sunday  morning,  December  seventeenth,  as  she 
was  sitting  alone  i-n  her  cabin,  a  woman  belonging  to 
Mr.  Hawkins,  who  owned  a  plantation  on  the  North 
bank  of  the  river,  came  over  to  pay  her  a  visit. 

"What  do  you  think,  Yina?"  said  she,  as  soon  as 
she  was  sure  there  were  no  listeners,  "I  heard  a  great 
secret  in  town  last  night." 

"Oh,  I  doa't  know -what  I  thinks  till  I  yers  what 
it's  about,"  replied  Yina. 

"•  Well,  Peter's  sent  for  you  all !  and  dar's  a  man  in 

[3621 


THE  HE-UNION.  363 

town  wharfs  come  from  some  place  'way  off  to  de  Norf 
dar,  to  tote  you  all  off." 

"How  does  you  know?"  asked  Vina,  her  eyes  dilated, 
and  her  whole  frame  trembling  with  excitement. 

"  Why,  I's  to  town  last  night  to  Mr.  Simpson's  store, 
and  I  yer  Mr.  Simpson  say  so  hisself.  Dey  all's  a 
makin'  out  de  papers,  and  dey'll  send  for  you  'fore 
many  days." 

The  visitor  soon  departed,  and  Vina,  sat  down  to 
think,  but  her  brain  whirled,  and  she  was  glad  when 
her  sons  came  in,  that  she  might  share  with  them  the 
great  joy  that  was  swelling  in  her  heart.  She  did  not 
for  one  moment  doubt  the  truth  of  the  report,  for  it 
was  what  she  had  expected.  O  poor  faithful  loving 
heart !  thou  hast  borne  grief  with  patience,  wait  but  a 
little  longer,  and  thy  joy  shall  overflow. 

The  mother  and  her  sons  now  held  a  consultation 
on  the  most  judicious  course  for  them  to  take;  and 
they  determined  to  say  nothing  on  the  subject  until 
they  should  hear  more.  Catharine  they  could  not  see 
before  the  next  Sunday.  Oh,  how  they  wished  that 
she  could  share  this  joy. 

On  Monday  morning,  they  went  to  work,  as  usual. 
The  bright  glad  hope  with  which  their  hearts  were 
warm  shone  not  in  their  dark  faces,  they  had  schooled 
their  features  to  wear  ever  the  same  calm  look.  Full 
well  they  knew  that  any  change  of  countenance  might 
be  construed  into  a  token  of  some  hidden  hope.  Slaves 
must  not  seem  to  hope  for  aught  save  Christmas  Holi- 
days, though  they  may  laugh,  and  dance,  and  sing, 
so  they  evince  no  thought  beyond  the,  present. 

Soon  after  midnight  the  next  Wednesday,  the  island 
people  were  all  called  up.  They  were  to  kill  hogs  that 


364         THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

day,  and  every  one  upon  the  place  was  obliged  to  be 
in  motion. 

Great  fires  were  built  here  and  there  for  scalding  the 
fated  animals,  and  sharp  knives,  gleaming  in  their 
strange  light,  seemed  impatient  to  begin  the  sport. 
Soon  all  was  noise  and  bustle.  The  merry  butchers 
talked  and  laughed,  their  victims  squealed,  and  grave 
old  women  scolded  at  the  trifling  of  the  youngsters ;  for 
though  the  day's  work  was  no  trifle,  it  was  a  change 
in  their  monotonous  life,  and  fun  and  frolic  reigned. 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Vina,  who  amid 
all  the  confusion,  was  watching  for  a  messenger,  saw 
her  master  coming  up  the  hill  from  the  river.  He 
walked  towards  the  cabins,  and  soon  called — "Vina  ! 
0  Vina!" 

She  strove  to  quell  the  tumultuous  throbbings  of  her 
heart,  and  she  succeeded  in  subduing  all  appearance 
of  emotion — so  that  when  she  reached  the  spot  where 
the  master  stood,  her  face  was  calm,  and  her  voice  was 
clear  as  usual. 

"Well,  Vina,"  said  he,  "how  would  you  like  to 
see  Peter  ?" 

"  Mons's  well,  Sir,"  replied  she. 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?" 

"  I  reckon,  sir,  he's  in  Cincinnati." 

"  No — he  lives  in  Philadelphia,  and  he's  bought 
you  all." 

"  Sought  us  ?" 

"  Yes,  he's  bought  you ; — how  would  you  like  to  go 
to  him  ?" 

"  Why,  if  it's  true,  sir,  I'd  like  to  go  mighty  well." 

"  If  it's  true  f— don't  you  believe  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,  whether  I  believes  it  or  not." 


THE  KE-UNION.  365 

"  Well,  don't  you  suppose  I  can  sell  you  if  I 
choose  ? — Don't  you  belong  to  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  know  you  can." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  go,  make  haste  and  get  your- 
selves ready ;  for  I've  got  to  carry  you  all  over  to 
Florence  to-night.  There's  a  man  there,  who  has  come 
for  you — he  can  tell  you  all  about  Peter.  You  ought 
to  have  been  there  before  now,  but  you  are  all  SCK 
devilish  hard  to  hear  that  I  had  to  hallo  there  for 
a  boat,  'till  I'm  right  hoarse." 

"  We  didn't  hear  you,  Sir — the  hogs  kept  such  a 
fuss." 

"  I  know — I  know — but  you  all  must  hurry  your- 
selves now." 

He  then  went  to  the  boys,  and  told  the  news  to 
them ;  but  they,  too,  made  strange  of  it,  and  seemed 
to  doubt  his  words. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  all  act  like  you  don't 
believe  me — now,  I'm  no  ways  anxious  to  sell  you, 
and  if  you  don't  want  to  go,  you  can  stay.  But  if 
you  do  want  to  go,  you  must  get  ready  devilish  quick, 
for  I  must  have  you  in  Florence  to-night ;  and  we 
must  cross  the  river  before  dark." 

The  mother  and  her  sons  entered  their  cabin,  and 
hastily  gathering  up  such  of  their  things  as  they  could 
carry  easiest,  they  hastened  to  the  river.  Among 
their  fellow-slaves  were  many  whom  they  counted 
friends,  but  even  to  these  they  had  no  time  to  say 
"  Good  bye."  Crossing  to  the  main  land  in  a  canoe, 
they  sprang  into  the  wagon  which  waited  for  them 
there,  and  drove  toward  home,  the  master  riding  by 
their  side. 

As  soon  as  they  arrived  at  the  quarter,  he  called  the 


366          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED^ 

overseer.  "  See  here,  Smith,  get  on  your  horse,  and 
go  quick  and  tell  Catharine  to  come  here.  Hide  fast ; 
for  I'm  in  a  devil  of  a  hurry." 

Away  went  the  overseer  to  the  clearing,  where  he 
found  Catharine  busy  chopping  down  a  tree.  "  Here, 
Girl,"  cried  he,  "  give  me  your  axe — go  quick  to  the 
house — you're  sold,  and  your  master  sent  me  for  you 
in  a  hurry." 

Half  bewildered,  yet  guessing  the  truth,  Catharine 
walked  as  fast  as  possible  towards  the  quarter.  Her 
mother's  figure  was  the  first  that  met  her  eye.  Then 
her  pulse  beat  quicker — she  bounded  towards  her. 

"Mother,  what  is  it?" 

"Why,  yer  father's  sent  for  us,  chile — leastways 
Mass'r  says  so." 

"  Has  he  done  bought  us  ?" 

"  Yes  ,•  so  your  Mass'r  says." 

"I  don't  want  no  more!"  cried  the  girl,  as  with 
eager  hands  she  assisted  her  mother  in  their  hasty 
preparations. 

The  master  remained  in  sight,  and  every  minute 
shouted  to  them  to  hurry,  or  they  could  not  cross  the 
river ;  thus  confusing  them  so  that  they  could  think 
of  nothing.  Vina  wished  to  see  her  mistress,  who 
owed  her  about  three  dollars  for  chickens,  and  had 
promised  her  the  money  on  Christmas.  Vina  knew 
that  she  would  jiot  refuse  to  pay  her  now,  but  Mr. 
McKiernan  would  not  let  her  go.  "Never  mind," 
said  he,  "  I'll  pay  you  when  we  get  to  town." 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  your  little  grandchild 
with  you  ?"  asked  the  master. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Yina,  "  if  I  could — how  much  you 
ask  for  him  ?" 


THE  KE-UNION.  367 

"Oh,  a  trifle!"  replied  he,  "I'd  sell  him  to  you 
for  a  trifle — perhaps  a  hundred  dollars." 

"Well,  Sir,  here's  all  my  things;  they  cost  a  heap 
o'  money,  and,  if  I  had  time,  I  could  sell  'em  all." 

"I'll  pay  you  for  them  when  we  get  to  town:  but 
come — hurry  yourself." 

Vina  understood  the  value  of  his  promise  to  pay 
her  for  the  goods  she  left  behind ;  but  she  was  help- 
less. She  threw  a  change  of  clothes  for  each  of  them 
into  her  trunk — she  had  no  time  to  select  the  best — • 
and  tying  up  her  feather  bed  which  Peter  had  bought 
for  her  nine  years  before,  she  said  "  Good  bye"  to  a 
few  mothers,  who  chanced  just  then  to  come  in 
from  the  field  to  nurse  their  .babies,  and  left  her 
cabin — to  return 'no  more. 

Notwithstanding  all  their  haste,  they  were  not  in 
time  to  cross  the  river  before  dark ;  and  so  they 
staid  at  Mr.  Win.  Jackson's  till  morning,  when  they 
went  into  town. 

They  stopped  at  Mr.  Simpson's  store,  where  the 
papers  were  to  be  signed ;  and  here  they  saw  the 
young  gentleman  who  had  been  sent  for  them. 

It  was  a  cold  raw,  day,  and  the  slaves  were  shivering 
in  their  plantation  clothes.  "  I  wish,  Sir,"  said  Vina 
to  her  master,  as  they  stood  in  the  chilling  wind, 
"you'd  give  me  money  enough  to  buy  me  a  thick 
shawl." 

"  Why,  Girl,"  said  he,  "I  could  n't  do  it.  I. came 
from  home  in  such  a  hurry,  that  I  did  n't  have  time  to 
get  any  small  change — I  have  nothing  with  me  less 
than  a  ten-dollar  bill." 

"Seems  to  me,"  said  his  son-in-law,  who  stood  by, 
"  these  niggers  are  poorly  dressed  to  be  for  sale  ;  you 


368          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND   THE    RANSOMED. 

might  get  her  the  shawl  now,  and  pay  for  it  some 
other  time," 

"Oh I"  said  Mr.  McKiernan,  "they've  got  better 
clothes,  but  they  won't  put  them  on." 

Vina  thought  of  his  promise  to  pay  her  for  the 
chickens,  and  also  for  the  goods  she  left  behind ;  but 
she  determined  not  to  ask  him  again,  herself.  So 
when  she  saw  a  crowd  of  gentlemen  standing  around, 
she  sent  Peter  to  tell  him  that  she  wanted  the  money 
for  the  chickens. 

"  Why,  Boy,"  said  he,  feeling  in  his  pocket,  "  I  have 
no  money  smaller  than  ten  dollars."  • 

Vina  was  listening.  "Yes,"  cried  she,  when  she 
heard  his  answer,  "  so  I  thought  when  you  would  n't 
let  me  stop  to  see  Missus.  I  knowed  you  was  n't 
gwine  pay  me  in  town." 

"  McKiernan,  d — n  it,"  said  one  that  stood  by  "  why 
don't  you  give  your  servants  something  ?  You  ought 
to  give  them  a  present  for  the  good  they've  done 
you." 

He  muttered  something  to  himself,  but  made  no 
answer. 

After  awhile  Peter  went  to  him  again,  and  asked 
him  how  much  he  would  take  for  his  baby.  Poor  Susan- 
na's dying  words  rang  in  his  ears,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
he  could  not  go  and  leave  her  child,  that  she  had  so 
solemnly  committed  to  his  charge.  . 

"The  baby,  eh?  Oh,  you  may  have  it  for  two 
hundred  dollars." 

The  young  'father's  hopes  were  dashed.  He  could 
not  raise  so  large  a  sum  as  he  had  learned  that  the 
funds  sent  by  his  father  were  barely  sufficient  to  defray 
the  travelling  expenses  of  the  family. 


THE  EE-UNION.  369 

• 

"I  say,  McKiernan,"  said  a  gentleman  in  the  crowd, 
who  pitied  the  distress  of  the  slave-father,  "I  think 
you  ought  to  give  that  old  woman  her  grandchild — 
I  heard  you  say  she  has  always  been  a  good  serv- 
ant— that  you  never  struck  her  a  lick,  and  that  she 
never  deserved  one — and  that  her  family  have  always 
behaved  themselves  well.  Give  them  the  little  one  for 
good  measure." 

"  Oh,  I'll  sell  the  child  cheap  to  them." 

"  Ha !  sell  it !  They've  no  money  to  buy  it.  Give 
it  to  them — that  would  be  no  more  than  fair." 

Said  another,  "  Where  in  the  world  did  Peter  get 
the  money  to  buy  his  family  ?" 

"  Oh,"  replied  McKiernan,  "he's  got  rich  relations; 
his  friends  are  all  wealthy.  I  saw  one  of  his  brothers 
last  year  in  Philadelphia — William  Still  is  his  name. 
He  is  rich,  and  a  devilish  likely  fellow  too.  He  keeps 
the  Anti-Slavery  Office.  I  was  in  there  twice,  myself, 
and  I  saw  him  write  a  hand  that  I  could  n't  beat,  nor 
you  either." 

"  What  office,  did  you  say  ?" 

"  The  Anti-Slavery  Office.  Ha !  ha !  I  was  as  good 
an  Abolitionist  as  any  of  them  while  I  was  there.  I 
tell  you — that  William  Still  is  a  fine  fellow.  Another 
of  the  brothers  has  a  store,  and  Peter  I  believe  owns 
half  of  it." 

The  business  was  at  last  concluded,  and  soon  after 
the  stage  drove  up  that  was  to  convey  them  to  East- 
port.  There  they  were  to  take  the  boat  which  could 
come  up  no  higher  on  account  of  the  low  state  of  the 
water  in  the  river. 

"  When  we  got  in  the  stage,"  says  Vina,  "  I  felt  free. 
'Peared  like  I  didn't  weigh  no  more'n  a  feather." 


370          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND   THE   RANSOMED. 

"  Aha !"  said  Catharine,  looking  down  with  ineffable 
contempt  upon  her  soiled  and  tattered  garb,  "  reckon 
when  I  git  whar  father  is,  I'll  drap  off  these  old  duds." 

"  Why  ?"  said  her  mother,  I  don't  reckon  he's  got 
any  new  clothes  for  you." 

"  But  didn't  Mass'r  say  he  got  a  store  ?" 

"Pshaw!  child,  don't  believe  all  he  says." 

"I  believe  that,  for  he  never  would  have  said  such 
a  thing,  if  it  wasn't  so." 

The  young  gentleman  who  had  them  in  charge  was 
closely  questioned  by  the  Captain  of  the  boat,  and  by 
sundry  other  officious  persons  at  Waterloo — a  little 
village  on  the  north  side  of  the  river,  nearly  opposite 
Eastport.  He  was,  however,  allowed  to  go  on  board 
with  them,  and  they  were  glad,  for  soon  they  had  their 
supper — the  first  food  they  had  tasted  since  daylight 
in  the  morning. 

All  went  smoothly  till  they  reached  Paducah.  Here 
they  were  obliged  to  change  boats,  and  again  was  their 
young  guardian  subjected  to  a  series  of  impertinent 
questioning,  as  to  what  he  was  going  to  do  with  the 
negroes,  &c.  He  at  length  succeeded  in  transferring 
his  charge  to  a  Louisville  boat ;  but  the  captain  of  this 
was  exceedingly  uneasy  about  the  slaves — he  having 
seen  them  when  Mr.  McKiernan  was  conveying  them 
back  to  slavery — nearly  four  years  before.  This  young 
man  was  evidently  from  the  North ;  indeed  he  did  not 
scruple  to  confess  it ;  and  if  he  should  be  running  these 
niggers  off",  and  if  his  boat  should  bear  him  on  in  the 
commission  of  such  treason  against  the  Constitution  and 
the  Union,  alas !  what  rum  would  ensue.  Yet  he  had 
straight  papers,  and  did  not  act  in  the  least  like  an 
Abolitionist  so  after  much  deliberation,  he  concluded 


THE   HE-UNION.  371 

to  let  them  come  on  board ;  but  at  the  same  time  he 
resolved  to  watch  them  well,  lest  the  fellow  should 
play  some  Yankee  trick. 

They  arrived  at  Louisville  in  safety,  and  lost  no 
time  in  seeking  a  boat  for  Cincinnati.  But  lo !  the . 
valorous  captain  of  the  packet  they  had  just  left  was 
there  before  them,  and  his  sage  warning  procured  from 
the  commander  of  the  Cincinnati  boat  a  stout  refusal 
to  take  them  on.  Their  young  guardian  was  now 
sorely  perplexed ;  but  fortunately  he  recollected  that 
he  had  an  acquaintance  in  Louisville,  who  was  a  mer- 
chant of  some  note.  To  this  gentleman  he  hastened 
in  his  extremity,  and  by  his  influence  with  the  cau- 
tious captain,  he  at  length  secured  a  passage  for  him- 
self and  the  four  ransomed  slaves  to  Cincinnati. 

The  nearer  they  approached  the  end  of  their  long 
journey,  the  more  restless  and  impatient  grew  the 
mother.  She  had  learned  to  bear  suspense  and  sor- 
row. She  had  waited  and  been  patient ;  but  this  rapid 
and  sure  approach  towards  the  fulfilment  of  her  hopes 
was  strange  and  new.  She  could  not  eat  nor  sleep  for 
very  joy.  The  attention  of  her  children,  however,  was 
more  easily  diverted  by  surrounding  objects,  and  as 
the  boys  found  occasional  employment  on  the  boat, 
the  hours  to  them  were  far  from  wearisome. 

They  all  suffered  exceedingly  from  cold.  Their 
clothes  were  thin  and  old ;  but  what  cared  he  who 
clutched  in  his  hard  grasp  the  avails  of  all  their  years 
of  toil,  beside  the  five  thousand  dollars  for  their  ran- 
som?— what  cared  he  if  they  should  perish  by  the 
way?  He  held  the  gold. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  Sabbath — the  last  day  of 


372          THE   KIDNAPPED  AND  THE   RANSOMED. 

the  year  1854.  Peter  rose  very  early,  and  walked 
down  to  the  wharf.  He  had  been  in  Cincinnati  for  a 
week,  waiting  to  greet  his  loved  ones — how  long  the 
hours  had  seemed  while  his  heart  trembled  between 
hope  'and  fear.  One  hour  he  felt  sure  that  he  should 
soon  clasp  in  his  fond  arms  the  precious  forms  of  wife 
and  children — the  next,  a  hundred  fears  arose  that  all 
his  hopes,  even  now,  were-  doomed  to  disappointment. 
He  had  not  heard  from  them  since  from  the  papers  he 
had  learned  of  their  return  to  slavery,  perhaps — Oh ! 
how  the  thought  now  shook  the  fabric  of  his  hopes — 
perhaps  to  torture  and  to  death.  Four  summers  had 
passed  since  then — four  seasons  where  fearful  sickness 
is  wont  to  make  its  annual  visits  to  the  dark,  unhealthy 
quarters  of  the  slave. 

But  on  this  holy  Sabbath  morning,  these  fears  -no 
longer  vexed  him;  for  but  a  few  hours  had  passed 
since  the  telegraph  had  brought  him  tidings  of  the  safe 
approach  of  those  for  whom  he  waited. 

He  stepped  on  board  the  "Northerner,"  and  the 
first  man  he  met  was  the  agent  of  Mr.  Hallowell.  A 
moment  more,  and  wife  and  daughter — both  were 
clasped  to  his  true  heart,  while  on  each  side  his  manly 
sons,  with  grateful  reverence,  gazed  upon  their  father's 
face. 

In  that  embrace  no  toil  or  sorrow  was  remembered ; 
their  swelling  hearts  had  only  room  for  love  and  grati- 
tude, and  praise  to  Him  who  had  not  betrayed  their 
trust. 

At  the  home  of  Levi  Coffin  the  ransomed  family 
were  welcome ;  and  as  that  good  man  himself  received 
them  there,  his  kind  heart  thrilled  with  a  delicious  joy, 
in  which  the  angels  sympathized. 


THE   RE-UNION.  373 

Rest  ye,  poor  hunted  ones.  No  more  shall  "  Chris- 
tian wolves"  prowl  along  your  pathway,  for  the  golden 
hand  of  charity  hath  taken  from  their  cruel  fangs  the 
power  to  do  you  harm.  Aye,  ye  are  free !  How 
changed  from  the  poor  trembling  fugitives  that  so 
lately  feared  the  echo  of  your  own  unequal  footsteps. 
Rejoice !  for  gold  hath  power  when  justice  fails.  Be 
glad !  for  mercy  lives,  though  on  the  fairest  portion  of 
our  country's  wide  domain  her  hands  are  chained — her 
tongue  is  silent. 

The  news  of  this  glad  re-union  spread  rapidly  among 
the  citizens  of  Cincinnati,  and  on  two  successive  even- 
ing, public  meetings  were  held  for  the  benefit  of  the 
shivering  strangers.  Gifts  of  warm  clothing,  and  of 
money  to  defray  the  expenses  of  their  journey  onward, 
were  gladly  oifered  by  those  who  love  to  "clothe  the 
naked,"  and  who  rejoice  in  the  "setting  at  liberty  of 
those  who  were  bound."  Many  worthy  persons  also 
proposed  to  entertain  the  family  at  their  houses,  but 
being  already  settled  at  Mr.  Coffin's,  they  deemed  it 
wisest  to  remain  there  during  their  stay  in  town. 

On  the  third  of  January  they  left  for  Pittsburg. 
There,  also,  they  were  received  with  joy ;  for  Peter's 
story  had  found  interested  listeners  in  that  city,  as  he 
had  passed  to  and  fro  between  Cincinnati  and  Phila- 
delphia. 

While  they  remained  at  Pittsburg,  a  meeting  was 
held  for  them  in  the  Bethel  Church,  at  which  the 
whole  family  appeared  in  the  clothes  they  wore  from 
the  plantation.  The  grateful  joy  of  the  father,  which 
beamed  so  brightly  from  his  smiling  face,  and  the 
shrinking  modesty  of  those  who  had  been  redeemed 
from  bondage  through  his  patient  efforts,  will  be  long 


374         THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   KANSOMED. 

remembered  by  those  kind  friends  who  there  offered 
them  the  greetings  of  the  free. 

On  the  tenth,  the  travellers  reached  Philadelphia, 
but  here  they  made  no  stop.  Poor  Vina  was,  by  this 
time,  quite  worn  out  by  excitement  and  fatigue,  and 
all  the  family  were  suffering  from  colds  contracted  on 
the  river.  So  they  hastened  on  to  Burlington,  where 
Peter  had  previously  made  provision  for  their  recep- 
tion in  the  family  of  a  colored  friend. 

Often,  during  Peter's  weary  wanderings  here  and 
there,  while  collecting  money  for  the  ransom  of  his 
family,  was  the  momentous  question  asked,  "  What  will 
they  do  when  they  are  free  ?"  To  answer  this  import- 
ant inquiry  is  all  that  now  remains. 

The  first  few  days  were  spent  by  the  re-united 
family  in  resting  from  the  tedious  journey,  and  in  ren- 
dering themselves  presentable  to  the  new  relatives  and 
friends  that  longed  to  greet  them.  Then  came  the 
delightful  visit  to  Peter's  aged  mother.  She  had  heard 
of  their  arrival  in  Cincinnati,  and  had  been,  for  some 
days,  expecting  them  at  her  home.  «• 

We  need  not  picture  the  glad  meeting  of  the  vene- 
rable woman  with  the  wife  and  children  of  her  long- 
lost  son.  The  sight  of  their  happy  faces  filled  her 
heart  with  holy  gratitude ;  for  in  each  form  so  lately 
released  from  slavery's  hated  chains,  she  saw  a  living 
witness  of  her  Great  Father's  love.  Year  after  year 
her  heart  had  sorrowed  for  her  sons ;  and  now,  like 
Israel  to  Joseph,  she  could  say,  "I  had  not  thought  to 
see  thy  face,  and  lo,  God  hath  showed  me  also  thy 
seed." 

But  even  in  that  glad  circle  beat  one  sorrowing 


THE  RE-UNION.  375 

heart.  Young  Peter  turned  sadly  from  the  joyful 
greetings  of  his  new-found  kindred,  for  the  sound  of  a 
little  voice  rang  in  his  ears.  "lam  not  there,  my  father !" 
was  the  wailing  cry — and  the  last  parting  gift  of  his 
dying  wife  seemed  stretching  forth  its  little  hands  to 
claim  a  place  among  the  free.  Poor  baby !  God  for- 
bid that  thou  shouldest  live — a  slave!  Let  us  trust 
that  in  His  good  Providence  this  little  one  may  yet  be 
brought  to  share  the  blessings  of  that  liberty  which, 
without  his  presence  his  young  father  can  never  half 
enjoy. 

Early  in  February,  Catharine  went  to  reside  with 
her  uncle,  "William  Still,  in  Philadelphia,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  attending  school,  and  also  of  receiving  instruc- 
tion from  her  aunt  in  the  practical  duties  of  a  free 
woman. 

Young  Peter  has  obtained  an  advantageous  situation 
in  the  service  of  Mr.  Richard  Ely,  at  New  Hope,  Bucks 
county,  Pa.;  and  Levin  is  perfecting  his, knowledge  of 
the  blacksmith's  trade  in  Beverly,  N.  J. 

The  father  and  mother,  during  the  summer  (1855), 
have  been  at  service  in  a  large  boarding-house  in  Bur- 
lington ;  and  though  they  are  not  yet  entirely  settled, 
the  arrangements  are  nearly  completed  by  which,  for 
the  first  time  in  their  lives,  they  may  enjoy  the  com- 
forts of  their  own  home. 

We  must  not  omit  to  mention  a  novel  marriage  that 
has  occurred  in  the  family  since  their  emancipation. 
The  previous  relation  of  the  parties,  as  well  as  the 
motives  which  impelled  them,  may  be  gathered  from 
the  subjoined  Certificate. 

"  This  is  to  certify  that  Mr.  Peter  Still  and  Lavinia, 


376          THE   KIDNAPPED   AND  THE   KANSOMED. 

his  wife,  having  solemnly  testified  to  their  lawful 
union  in  wedlock,  which  took  place  twenty-nine  years 
ago,  the  twenty-fifth  of  last  June,  while  in  the  bonds 
of  Southern  Slavery,  in  the  State  of  Alabama,  having 
now  obtained  their  freedom,  and  having  no  certificate 
of  said  union,  being  desirous  of  again  solemnizing  their 
union  in  the  sacred  nuptial  ties,  were  solemnly  re- 
united in  the  bonds  of  marriage,  on  the  eleventh  day 
of  March,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  fifty-five,  by  me,  a  duly  authorized  Min- 
ister of  the  Gospel. 

"WASHINGTON  BARNHUKST. 

"  Burlington,  Burlington  Co.,  N.  J." 

Our  task  is  done.  We  have  sought  truthfully  to 
portray  the  various  phases  of  slave-life  which  are  illus- 
trated in  the  history  of  the  subjects  of  these  "Recollec- 
tions." The  facts  are  from  the  lips  of  Peter  and  his 
wife ;  and  are  in  all  cases  given  substantially  as  nar- 
rated by  them'  to  the  writer.  If  their  record  shall  in 
any  wise  subserve  the  cause  of  Justice  and  Humanity ; 
if  the  perusal  of  these  pages  shall  increase  the  reader's . 
hatred  of  slavery,  or  win  one  manly  voice  or  vote  for 
Freedom,  our  labor  is  not  lost. 


SETH  CONCKLIN 

WAS  born  February  3,  1802,  at  Sandy  Hill,  K  Y. 
Previously  to  her  marriage  his  mother  had  been  a 
teacher  in  the  schools  of  Vermont.  His  father  was  a 
mechanic,  who  was  accustomed  to  go  South  in  search 
of  employment.  He  died  in  Georgia,  leaving  his 
widow  with  five  children,  of  whom  Seth,  then  about 
fifteen  years  of  age,  was  the  oldest.  He  was  not 
wholly  without  property,  but  what  little  he  had,  he 
left  in  charge  of  a  man,  who  defrauded  the  family  of 
every  cent  of  it  and  fled  to  Canada.  They  became  de- 
pendent upon  the  boy  Seth,  who  took  up  the  business 
of  a  pedlar,  and  so  procured  a  livelihood  for  his  mother 
and  sisters.  It  is  remembered  how  careful  he  was  to 
save  every  penny  for  them,  how  he  went  upon  long 
journeys,  being  absent  for  weeks  at  a  time,  how.  anx- 
iously his  return  was  watched  for,  how  highly  he  was 
thought  of,  not  only  by  the  little  ones  of  his  own 
household,  but  also  by  the  children  of  the  neighbors ; 
how  the  children,  when  they  descried  the  weary  young 
pedlar  returning  after  a  long  tramp,  ran  to  meet  him 
and  quarrelled  for  his  hand  and  hung  upon  his  coat. 
After  a  while,  Mrs.  Concklin  was  induced  by  some 

C877] 


378  APPENDIX. 

relatives  to  go  to  Canada.  There  was  a  more  promis- 
ing prospect  for  her  in  that  country.  Seth  procured  a 
situation  in  a  lumber  yard,  where  his  employer  esteem- 
ed him  so  highly,  that  in  order  to  keep  the  lad  con- 
tented, he  took  into  his  family  a  little  sister  of  Seth's, 

Eveline.     The  lumber  man,  Mr.  W ,  treated  him 

with  uniform  confidence.  This  man  was  subject  to 
violent  fits  of  intemperance,  when  he  would  fasten  up 
his  house  and  keep  his  wife  and  children  in  the  utmost 
terror  by  his  wild  and  frenzied  proceedings.  At  such 
times  Seth  was  the  only  person  who  had  any  influence 
over  him.  Again  and  again  he  seized  his  gun  and 
threatened  to  shoot  Seth,  whom  he  charged  with  col- 
luding with  the  family  against  him.  But  the  lad,  as 
his  sister  well  remembers,  stood  calm  and  unmoved  by 

the  threats  of  the  madman.     So  fearful  was  Mr.  W 

in  his  sane  moments,  of  being  forsaken  by  Seth,  who, 
he  knew,  wished  to  join  his  mother,  who  had  sent  for 
him,  in  Canada,  that  he  caused  the  little  Eveline,  Seth's 
sister,  to  be  locked  up  in  a  chamber  up  stairs,  so  that 
her  brother  could  communicate  with  her  only  by 
climbing  a  tree  which  stood  near  her  window.  He 
seized  an  opportunity  when  his  master  was  unable  to 
rise  from  his  bed,  to  take  his  little  sister  away.  He 

did  not  go  without  bidding  farewell  to  Mr.  W , 

who  paid  him  his  wages  and  shed  tears  at  parting  with 
the  youth.  "I  shall  go  to  utter  ruin  now  that  Seth 
has  left  me !"  the  master  exclaimed. 

The  boy  and  girl  set  out  on  foot  for  Canada.  They 
met  with  much  kindness.  Sometimes  a  kind  woman,  a 
mother,  would  take  them  in,  give  them  food  and  shel- 
ter, wash  the  little  girl  and  comb  her  hair.  From 
others  they  received  harsh  words,  and  thus  they 


SETH  CONCKLUSr.  379 

trudged  on.  They  were  observed  and  spoken  of  as 
"the  children."  For  though  Seth  was  some  seventeen 
years  of  age,  his  appearance  was  very  boyish.  The 
country  was  then  new  and  wild,  and  log  houses  were 
the  principal  habitations  to  be  seen.  In  one  place  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Watertown,  a  good  woman  liv- 
ing in  a  neat  frame  house,  surrounded  by  a  large  farm, 
a  Mrs.  Coles,  treated  the  young  travellers  with  especial 
kindness,  took  a  fancy  to  the  little  Eveline,  wished  to 
retain  and  adopt  her,  as  her  own  children  were  all 
grown  up  and  married ;  and  made  Seth  promise  that 
•if  he  returned  to  the  States,  he  would  bring  Eveline  to 
her,  and  let  her  have  the  child.  At  this  stage  of  the 
journey,  the  little  girl  fell  sick  and  was  worn  down  by 
fatigue,  and  grew  fretful  and  cried  a  good  deal,  but 
Seth  was  anxious  to  reach  Sackett's  Harbor ;  and  he 
coaxed  and  threatened  her.  She  remembers  how  they 
used  to  sit  down  by  the  road-side  to  rest,  and  how  her 
brother  used  to  cry,  and  she  thought  it  was  because 
his  pack  was  so  heavy,  and  she  wanted  him  to  let  her 
take  it,  although  it  was  beyond  her  strength. 

At  last  they  reached  Sackett's  Harbor  one  afternoon. 
Seth  found  that  the  steamboat  fare  was  higher  than  he 
could  pay.  He  took  his  sister  to  a  public  house,  bade 
her  go  to  bed  and  sleep  till  he  called  her  the  next 
morning.  The  weary  child  slept  till  ten  o'clock  the 
next  morning,  and  upon  waking  and  not  finding  Seth, 
grew  frightened  and  thought  he  had  left  her ;  but  he 
soon  came.  He  had  engaged  a  man  with  a  small  sail- 
boat (a  smuggler),  to  take  them  across  the  Lake  to 
Gravel  Point,  which  they  hoped  to  reach  that  same 
evening.  It  was  September.  The  weather  was  cold, 


380  APPENDIX. 

with  flurries  of  snow.  They  had  been  out  on  the 
Lake  hardly  an  hour  when  a  rain-storm  arose,  and  the 
waves  grew  angry  and  dashed  into  the  boat,  so  that  it 
required  constant  bailing,  and  there  was  nothing  to 
bail  with  but  a  leaky  old  coffee  pot,  and  that  was  soon 
lost  overboard.  The  little  girl  was  very  much  fright- 
ened. She  screamed  and  took  off  one  of  her  shoes  to 
bail  out  the  water.  The  boat  made  little  or  no  head- 
way till  dark.  They  were  all  drenched  to  the  skin, 
the  water  going  over  them  all  the  time.  Seth's  sister 
remembers  their  getting  round  a  dangerous  point  called 
Pillar  Point.  The  opposite  shore,  which  they  were  ap- , 
proaching  was  apparently  uninhabited.  But,  although 
the  others  could  not  see  it,  the  little  girl  descried  a 
small  log  hut  in  the  distance.  They  gained  the  land 
at  last,  and  the  man  and  boy  set  themselves  immedi- 
ately to  gather  sticks  and  wood  to  make  a  fire  to  warm 
and  dry  themselves,  and  keep  off  any  wild  beasts. 
Eveline,  however,  entreated  them  so  earnestly  to  go  in 
the  direction  in  which  she  insisted  she  had  seen  the  log 
hut,  that  at  last  they  yielded.  After  walking  some 
distance,  it  appeared  in  sight,  and  they  found  that  she 
had  not  been  mistaken.  At  the  hut  they  found  a 
young  married  couple,  squatters,  who  had  been  settled 
there  only  a  few  months,  and  who  received  them  with 
a  hospitable  welcome.  The  woman  said  she  had  seen 
their  boat  while  it  was  daylight,  and  had  watched  it  for 
some  time.  This  couple  had  their  chief  dependence 
for  food  upon  game.  The  only  eatable  they  had  in  the 
house  was  some  wheat  flour.  The  woman  made  bread 
for  them  and  for  their  supply  on  the  morrow.  She 
divided  her  bedclothes  with  them.  The  hut  was  so 


SETH   CONCKLIN.  381 

low  that  a  man  could  hardly  stand  erect  in  it.  There 
was  no  chimney ;  a  fire  was  made  at  one  end,  and  the 
smoke  found  its  way  out  through  the  roof. 

The  next  day  they  started  by  the  lake  for  Gravel 
Point,  and  arrived  at  sunset.  The  weather  had  cleared. 
As  they  were  approaching  land,  they  saw  a  two-horsed 
wagon  just  starting  for  Kingston,  some  four  or  five 
miles  distant.  Seth  was  so  anxious  to  secure  a  seat  in 
the  wagon  for  his  sister,  that  when  they  got  into  shal- 
low water,  he  bade  her  take  off  her  shoes  and  stock- 
ings. They  both  jumped  into  the  water  and  ran  to 
overtake  the  wagon.  There  were  a  number  of  men 
with  it,  but  they  refused  to  let  her  ride,  as,  they  said, 
the  road  was  new  and  Very  bad,  scarcely  a  road — they 
were  carrying  rails  to  prop  and  lift  the  wagon — they 
doubted  whether  they  should  be  able  to  go  through. 
They  took  no  notice  of  Seth  and  his  sister.  The  mud 
was  so  deep — Seth  sinking  into  it  over  his  boots — that 
he  took  the  little  girl  in  his  arms,  who  with  his  bag- 
gage made  a  heavy  burthen.  She  begged  to  be  put 
down.  At  last  she  was  allowed  to  walk,  and  tried  to 
jump  from  log  to  log,  but  she  fell  again  and  again  into 
the  mud  and  was  completely  covered  with  it.  It  be- 
gan to  grow  dark.  They  got  to  Kingston,  however, 
before  the  wagon.  At  the  ferry  a  fat,  good-natured 
old  woman  insisted  upon  taking  off  the  child's  clothes, 
giving  her  a  good  washing,  and  wrapping  her  up  in  a 
buffalo  skin. 

The  young  travellers  reached  Kingston  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning ;  and  with  the  assistance  of  a 
watchman,  found  the  dwelling  of  a  Mr.  Eoleau,  with 
whom  their  mother  lodged.  She  received  her  two 
children  with  great  emotion,  laughing  and  weeping 


882  APPENDIX. 

hysterically.  She  had  been  sick,  but  was  on  the  re- 
covery. During  her  illness  her  business,  keeping  a 
small  shop,  had  gone  to  ruin,  and  she  was  earning 
bread  for  her  children  with  her  needle. 

Eveline  was  ill  for  three  months,  from  the  cold  and 
fatigue  of  the  journey.  Seth  took  to  peddling  again, 
through  the  approaching 'winter  and  the  following  sum- 
mer. But  the  winter  after  that,  the  second  in  Canada, 
he  became  discouraged.  One  day  he  brought  back 
such  a  pittance  that  he  threw  down  his  pack,  and  said 
he  would  never  take  it  up  again.  He  knew  not  what 
to  do.  Occasionally  he  found  some  transient  employ- 
ment. He  searched  the  newspapers  diligently  to  seize 
upon  what  might  offer.  One  'day,  in  looking  over  a 
newspaper,  he  found  something  about  a  haunted  house. 
"Here's  a  ghost  story!"  he  said  to  his  mother  and 
brothers  and  sisters,  "come,  let  me  read  it  to  you." 
It  turned  out  to  be  an  advertisement  of  a  house  in 
Sackett's  Harbor,  which  had  the  reputation  of  being 
haunted,  and  in  which  the  owner  was  willing  that  any 
one  should  live,  rent  free,  until  the  place  should  get  a 
better  name.  Seth  exclaimed :  "  I  '11  go  take  that 
house,  and  we  shall  have  nothing  to  pay."  He  started 
instantly  for  Sackett's  Harbor,  with  the  consent  of  his 
mother  (they  had  no  fear  of  ghosts),  and  returned  in 
three  days,  having  found  and  engaged  the  house  in  the 
suburbs  of  the  place ;  large  and  commodious,  originally 
built  for  an  hotel. 

While  the  family  were  preparing  to  leave  Kingston, 
a  robbery  was  committed  on  the  money-drawer  of  the 
shop,  adjoining  the  house  where  the  Concklins  lived. 
Seth  was  arrested  and  put  in  jail  on  suspicion  of  being 
the  thi^f.  The  sole  ground  of  the  charge,  thus  brought 


SETH  CONCKLIN.  383 

against  him  by  the  shopkeeper,  was  that  Seth  being 
well  acquainted  with  his  two  sons,  had  often  been  in 
the  shop  and  knew  where  the  money  was  kept.  The 
family  felt  keenly  the  shame  of  such  a  charge ;  and 
some  of  their  best  friends  grew  cool.  Seth,  however, 
fearless  in  the  consciousness  of  his  integrity,  was  con- 
vinced that  he  would  be  acquitted,  and  begged  his 
mother  not  to  be  detained  by  his  trial,  which  was  not 
to  take  place  for  some  weeks  ;  but  to  go  immediately 
to  their  new  residence  in  Sackett's  Harbor.  Accord- 
ingly she  started ; .  it  was  the  spring  of  the  year ;  the 
snow  was  all  gone.  But  just  as  she  had  got  on  board 
the  vessel  with  all  her  baggage,  and  with  her  five  chil- 
dren, a  man  came  running  to  inform  her  that  Seth  was 
to  have  a  hearing,  and  she  must  return.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  done  but  to  let  the  children  (the  oldest 
of  whom  was  a  girl  of  about  twelve  years  of  age),  go 
alone  with  the  baggage.  The  mother  gave  this  child 
some  money  and  every  possible  direction,  and  the 
strictest  charges  to  make  no  fire  and  light  no  candle  in 
the  house  till  she  came.  They  were  to  live  on  bread 
and  milk.  One  of  the  children,  a  little  boy,  was  sick, 
and  had  to  be  carried  in  the  arms  of  his  little  sisters  all 
the  way.  The  party  of  little  ones  reached  •  Sackett's 
Harbor  in  safety,  attracting  much  curiosity  and  kind- 
ness on  board  the  boat.  The  haunted  house  belonged 
to  a  Mr.  Comstock,  but  a  person  by  the  name  of 
Parker  had  care  of  it.  Lydia  left  the  other- children 
in  the  boat  and  went  to  look  after  the  house.  .  In  about 
a  couple  of  hours  she  returned  with  the  key,  and  a 
man  and  cart  to  take  their  baggage.  As  they  were  on 
the  way  to  their  new  tenement,  an  old  man  met  them 
who  proved  to  be  a  quack  doctor,  who,  struck  by  the 


384  APPENDIX. 

youth,  and  unprotected  condition  of  the  little  group, 
carrying  with  them  a  sick  child,  stopped  and  questioned 
them,  took  the  sick  one  in  his  arms,  and  went  with 
them  to  the  house.  It  soon  became  dark.  The  chil- 
dren had  no  supper.  The  old  doctor  said  they  must 
have  a  light.  But  the  children  would  not  listen  to  it. 
It  would  be  against  the  express  commands  of  their 
mother,  who  feared  probably  that  they  might  catch  the 
house  or  themselves  on  fire.  The  doctor  expostulated, 
but  to  no  purpose.  Mother  had  forbidden  it.  He  was, 
it  seems,  an  oddity.  His  speeches  set  the  children  a 
laughing.  He  suspected,  he  said,  that  the  house  really 
was  haunted,  and  that  these  little  things  were  the 
ghosts — they  were  so  afraid  of  light.  He  guessed 
they  had  an  invisible  mother. 

Three  times  a  day  for  ten  days,  till  the  mother  joined 
her  children  (Seth  having  been  fully  acquitted),  the 
good  man  visited  them,  bringing  them  soup,  etc.,  and 
nursing  the  sick  child.  As  soon  as  their  mother  ar- 
rived, she  unpacked  her  trunks  and  furniture,  and 
made  the  place  a  good  deal  more  comfortable.  As  she 
was  seated  at  her  first  meal  with  the  children,  in  came 
the  doctor,  and  stood  staring  at  the  party  without  say- 
ing a  word.  "  I  was  wondering,"  he  said  at  last  to 
Mrs.  Concklin,  "whether  you  were  a  ghost  or  a  real 
woman." 

The  mother  brought  to  her  children  the  cheering  in- 
telligence that  Seth  would  be  with  them  in  three 
weeks.  Eveline,  then  about  eleven  years  of  age,  with 
her  little  brother  George,  kept  watch  on  the  shore  of 
the  Lake,  as  the  time  drew  nigh  for  the  coming  of 
Seth.  At  last  they  recognized  his  figure,  before  they 
could  see  his  features,  on  board  of  a  vessel  that  was 


SETH   CONCKLLN'.  385 

approaching,  and  on  which,  he  worked  his  passage. 
At  this  period  the  family  was  tolerably  comfortable 
-and  happy.  Seth  got  work.  They  lived  in  "the 
haunted  house  "  ono  year.  Then,  as  the  owner  con- 
sidered the  good  character  of  the  place  established,  he 
required  them  to  pay  rent.  It  was  too  high  for  their 
means,  and  they  removed. 

Seth,  recollecting  his  promise  to  Mrs.  Coles,  the  good 
woman  who  had  been  so  kind  to  him  and  taken  such 
a  liking  for  the  little  Eveline  when  they  stopt  at  her 
house  on  their  way  to  Canada,  advised  his  mother  to 
send  Eveline  to  that  lady.  She  acceded,  and  the  child 
was  sent  by  the^stage,  and  received  by  Mrs.  Coles  with 
the  most  cordial  of  welcomes,  and  adopted  as  her  own, 
and  taught  many  things.  The  child  was  happy  here 
and  the  next  winter,  Mr.  Coles,  a  worthy  and  elderly 
man,  took  her  in  a  sleigh  to  see  her  mother.  Upon 
her  visit  home,  Eveline  found  Seth  a  soldier.  Her 
mother  was  declining,  and  Seth,  having  the  offer  of  a 
place  as  a  substitute,  enlisted  for  one  year,  nine  months, 
nineteen  days  in  Company  B.  By  cooking  for  the  com- 
pany, Seth  greatly  increased  his  income,  and  was  better 
able  to  assist  his  mother.  As  he  was  not  allowed  to 
leave  the  garrison,  Mr.  Coles  took  Eveline  to  see  Seth 
and  she  recollects  how  the  old  man  who  was  a  methodist 
gave  Seth  his  blessing  for  being  such  a  good  son  and 
brother. 

The  next  fall,  of  the  eight  hundred  men  iu  garrison 
at  Sackett's  Harbor,  four  hundred  were  drafted  to  go 
to  St.  Mary's  (understood  to  be  a  thousand  miles  off,) 
and  Seth  being  young  and  unmarried,  among  the  num- 
ber. He  endeavored  to  be  excused  but  without  success. 
17 


386  APPENDIX. 

The  hope  was  cherished  that  he  might  be  induced  to 
re-enlist  when  his  time  was  out.  His  mother  parted 
with  him  with  a  heavy  heart.  She  told  the  children 
she  should  never  see  him  again. 

With  the  help  of  her  eldest  daughter,  the  mother 
was  enabled  to  do  something  for  the  support  of  her 
children,  making  sun-bonnets.  Seth  sent  them  nearly 
all  his  wages,  and  kept  them  so  well  supplied  with 
money  that  when  his  mother  shortly  after  fell  sick,  and 
after  an  illness  of  eight  weeks,  died,  there  was  money 
enough  in  the  house  for  all  the  frugal  wants  of  its  in- 
mates, and  for  the  expenses  incurred  by  her  sickness 
and  burial.  In  this  her  last  illness,  she  talked  only  of 
her  absent  son,  and  her  dying  injunction  to  her  little 
ones  was  to  obey  Seth  in  all  things. 

Upon  the  decease  of  Mrs.  Concklin,  the  unprotected 
state  of  the  orphans  was  published  in  the  newspapers, 
so  that  their  kindred  might  come  and  take  charge  of 
them.  Seth  saw  the  papers.  They  gave  him  the  first 
news  of  the  death  of  his  mother.  He  succeeded  in  ob- 
taining a  discharge.  His  mother  died  in  April,  but  he 
was  not  able  to  reach  home  till  August.  He  found  the 
children  in  the  care  of  an  aunt.  His  interest  had  been 
awakened  in  the  Shakers,  and  he  conceived  the  idea  of 
putting  his  brothers  and  sisters  in  the  charge  of  a 
Shaker  community. 

"With  this  intention  he  visited  the  Watervliet  Shaker 
settlement  not  far  from  Albany,  and  was  so  much 
pleased  with  it,  that  he  took  the  little  ones,  now  every 
where  known  as  "  Seth's  family,"  and  enrolled  them 
and  himself  as  members  of  that  community.  The  Coles, 
having  had  a  daughter  with  five  children  come  home 


SETH'  CONCKLIN.  '  387 

to  live  with  them,  gave  up  Eveline  who  joined  the 
Shakers  also.  Seth  remained  with  the  Shakers  three 
years,  the  children  for  a  longer  period. 

Upon  leaving  the  Shakers,  Seth  went  from  place  to 
place,  finding  employment  now  here,  now  there.  He 
followed  the  business  of  a  miller  for  some  time  in 
Syracuse  and  in  Rochester  and  other  places,  never,  in 
all  his  wanderings,  losing  sight  of  "his  family,"  keep- 
ing always  in  correspondence  with  them.  Everywhere 
he  was  accounted  a  singular  man,  eccentric,  silent,  "  in 
the  way  of  bargain,  cavilling  for  the  ninth  part  of  a 
hair,"  and  yet  generous  as  the  day.  Whenever  any 
attempt  was  made  to  cheat  him,  he  instantly  appealed 
to  the  law,  and,  it  is  said,  he  never  lost  his  suit.  At 
the  same  time  he  Avould  turn  his  pockets  inside  out  to 
relieve  the  destitute.  On  one  occasion  his  attention 
was  arrested  by  a  poor  Irishwoman  with  a  number  of 
children,  who  told  him  how  they  had  been  turned  into 
the  street  for  rent,  her  husband  being  in  jail  on  the 
same  account.  He  asked  the  amount,  and,  upon  learn- 
ing it,  gave  her  what  she  wanted,  but  it  was  nearly  all 
that  he  had.  The  woman  immediately  fell  at  his  feet 
in  the  street  and  clasped  his  knees,  and  poured  out, 
with  Irish  volubility,  such  a  torrent  of  blessings  and 
thanks  that  quite  a  crowd  collected.  Seth,  much  an- 
noyed, turned  to  get  rid  of  her,  and  at  last  finding  he 
could  not  silence  her,  he  shook  her  off,  exclaiming  in 
a  way  that  was  characteristic  of  him :  "  Get  away,  you 
d— d  fool  I" 

From  time  to  time,  he  visited  his  old  friends  the 
Shakers.  (His  youngest  sister  remains  with  them  to 
this  day.)  Although,  according  to  their  rules,  mem- 
bers who  quit  them,  lose  their  membership,  yet  excep- 


APPENDIX. 

tions  occur.  And  Seth,  in  consideration  of  his  worth 
and  eccentricity,  was  allowed  again  and  again  to  return 
into  full  communion  with  the  Society  of  "Watervliet. 
It  impressed  him  yery  strongly  in  favor  of  the  Shakers 
that  they  did  not  recognize  the  distinction  of  color. 

It  was  after  "his  family"  was  settled  among  that 
people,  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  abolition  move- 
ment, that  Seth  Concklin  began  to  take  an  interest  in 
that  odious  cause.  And  it  may  be  doubted  whether  it 
has  ever  yet  had  a  more  devoted  adherent.  He  re- 
cognized it  as  the  only  hope  of  the  Slave.  He  saw 
clearly,  and  from  an  early  period  through  the  Colon- 
ization scheme,  how  it  concedes  to  the  inhuman  pre- 
judices of  the  country.  He  abhorred  it  as  heartily  as 
Mr.  Garrison  himself  does. 

In  a  letter,  dated  July  20, 1830,  written  from  Syracuse 
to  his  sister  Eveline,  he  says,  "Lest  you  might  be 
deoeived  by  that  wicked  spirit  of  the  American  Colon- 
ization Society,  I  take  the  liberty  to  inform  you  that 
the  American  Abolition  Society  is  the  only  thorough 
good  spirit  which  maintains  the  rights  and  privileges 
of  colored  people.  Be  not  deceived  by  the  Coloniza- 
tion Society, 

"  They  are  as  cunning  as  the  devil  can  invent. 

"  They  rivet  the  chains  of  Slavery. 

"  They  put  beneath  them  all  mercy. 

"  They  deceive  many  honest  white  people  by  saying 
that  they  are  friendly  to  the  black  population,  and 
*  raise  funds  to  send  from  this  land  of  freedom  and  reli- 
gious liberty  all  free  persons  of  color  whom  they  can 
influence.  Be  not  deceived  by  that  dreadful  demon 
spirit." 

All  that  he  earned,  beyond  the  means  of  his  own 


SETH  CONCKLIN.  389 

frugal  subsistence,  was  given  to  the  abolition  cause. 
I  find  receipts  of  sums  of  five  dollars  and  ten  dollars 
from  Seth  Concklin,  acknowledged  in  "the  Emanci- 
pator." Sometimes  be  gave  fifty  dollars  at  a  time,  and 
once  one  hundred  dollars.  Once  in  Syracuse,  and 
again  in  Eochester  he  was  mobbed  for  taking  the  part 
of  black  men  against  white  rowdies,  and  had  to  run  for 
his  life,  and  absent  himself  for  days  till  their  infuriated 
passions  had  cooled.  At  Kochester  he  dashed  like 
lightning  through  the  crowd  and  levelled  the  ring- 
leader who  had  got  a  rope  round  a  poor  colored  man 
and  was  otherwise  maltreating  him,  thus  diverting  the 
wrath  of  the  mob  to  himself.  That  more  than  one 
such  case  of  the  persecution  of  the  colored  people 
should  have  occurred  years  ago  in  Western  New  York, 
will  seem  improbable  to  no  one  who  recollects,  as  many 
not  very  old  persons  may  remember,  what  a  time- 
honored  custom  it  was,  not  very  long  since,  in  the 
enlightened  city  of  Boston  to  drive'  all  "  the  niggers" 
off  the  common  on  a  certain  State-Election  holiday 
that  occurred  in  the  spring  of  the  year. 

On  one  occasion,  early  in  the  history  of  the  Abolition 
movement,  the  people  of  Syracuse  were  outraged  by 
the  sudden  and  mysterious  appearance  among  them  of 
some  Anti-Slavery  tracts :  n6  one  knew  whence  they 
came.  The  place  was  thrown  into  as  great  an  alarm 
as  if  combustibles  and  lighted  lucifers  had  been  found 
under  every  door.  A  public  meeting  was  held  to  de- 
vise "  summary  proceedings."  It  was  suspected  that 
some  emissary  of  Satan  had -alighted  -in  the  town. 
With  the  leaders  of  the  meeting  Seth  Concklin  was  on 
terms  of  familiar  acquaintance.  He  attended  on  the 
occasion ;  but  retired  before  the  meeting  was  brought 


390  APPENDIX. 

to  a  close.  Upon  returning  to  their  homes,  the  officers 
of  the  meeting,  and  all  who  had  taken  any  conspicuous' 
part  in  it,  found  the  accursed  tracts  had  been  thrown 
into  their  doors,  while  they  had  been  so  patriotically 
engaged  in  seeing  to  the  safety  of  the  community. 
Wrath  mounted  to  the  highest  pitch  against  the  incen- 
diary, who,  it  was  rumored,  was  a  stranger  putting  up 
at  the  Syracuse  House.  Judge  Lynch  was  invoked. 
Tar  and  feathers  were  got  in  readiness.  No  suspicious 
stranger  was  to  be  found  ;  but  it  was  ascertained  that 
the  offender  was  an  acquaintance  of  theirs,  Seth  him- 
self, who  very  wisely  took  care  to  retire  from  the 
scene.  In  a  few  days  the  excitement  died  away. 
Considering  that  the  offence  had  been  committed  by 
no  impudent  stranger,  but  by  one  of  their  own  neigh- 
bors, and  by  no  other  than  so  odd  and  honest  a  fellow 
as  Seth  Concklin,  the  people  recovered  their  compo- 
sure so  completely,  that  when  he  shortly  returned 
among  them,  they  shook  hands  with  him  over  his 
escape. 

The  subject  of  this  brief  memoir  appears  to  have 
been  a  man  who  had  "  swallowed  formulas."  He  was 
a  law  to  himself.  He  took  and  kept  his  own  counsel. 
On  one  occasion,  a  colored  man,  professing  to  be  an 
agent  for  the  Wilberforce  Colony  in  Canada  West, 
visited  Western  New  York,  collecting  moneys  from  the 
charitable.  He  every  where  showed  a  book,  impos- 
ingly bound  in  red  morocco,  in  which  the  names  of 
those  who  contributed  to  his  object  were  recorded; 
among  them  were  the  names  of  men  well  known  and 
eminent.  This  book  served  as  his  passport  and  recom- 
mendation, and  secured  his  success  in  the  towns  which 
he  visited.  Our  friend  Seth,  having  some  suspicion  of 


SETH    CONCKLIN.  391 

this  man's  honesty  when  he  came  to  Syracuse,  watched 
him  closely,  and  became  convinced  that  he  was  an 
impostor.  Resolved  that  the  community  should  be 
duped  no  longer,  Seth  disguised  himself  and  followed 
the  fellow,  and  overtook  him  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Seneca  Falls,  and  there,  without  being  recognized,  of- 
fered him  a  subscription,  and  when  the  red  book  was 
handed  to  Seth  to  put  down  his  name,  he  took  posses- 
sion of  it,  and  refused  to  return  it  to  the  owner.  The 
man  complained  of  him  before  a  magistrate ;  Concklin 
was  held  to  bail  for  his  appearance  at  the  next  General 
Sessions  to  answer  to  the  charge  of  abducting  this 
book,  the  property  of  another.  His  friends  in  Syra- 
cuse came  promptly  to  his  aid,  and  abundant  testimony 
was  furnished  to  his  character  for  integrity  and 
general  correctness.  The  prosecutor,  however,  never 
appeared  against  him ;  and  Concklin  was  considered 
as  being  right  in  his  estimation  of  the  man,  and  as 
having  done  the  community  a  service,  although  he 
adopted  a  perilous  and  illegal  way  of  arresting  the 
depredations  of  an  impostor. 

Not  long  after  this  transaction,  Concklin  spent  some 
time  in  the  West,  visiting  St.  Louis,  and  residing 
awhile  at  Springfield,  (111.).  His  chief  business  then 
and  there,  a  business  which  took  precedence  in  his  re- 
gard of  all  other  matters,  was  aiding  the  transit  of 
passengers  on  the  Under-Ground  Railroad.  He  acted, 
however,  very  little  in  concert  with  others.  In  a  time 
of  uniformity  and  conformity,  when  the  tendency  and 
fashion  everywhere  is  to  ride  in  troops,  Seth  Concklin 
was  a  man  by  himself.  He  went  on  his  own  hook. 
His  fearless  speech  brought  him  into  frequent  peril. 
On  one  occasion,  he  was  condemning  the  "Patriarchal 


392  APPENDIX. 

Institution,"  in  such  strong  terms,  that  one  of  his 
hearers  struck  him  a  heavy  blow  with  his  fist ;  for 
which  outrage  Seth  caused  him  to  be  arraigned  before 
the  Church  to  which  the  offender  belonged,  and  com- 
pelled him  to  make  confession  of  his  fault.  Although 
thus  fearless,  our  friend  was  very  cautious  in  com- 
municating with  the  slaves.  He  gave  them  no  hope 
of  his  assistance,  until  he  found  that  they  were  re- 
solved upon  obtaining  their  freedom :  then  he  gave 
them  all  possible  information  as  to  time  of  starting. 
and  the  places  to  which  they  should  go,  adding  a  small 
pecuniary  gift,  and  bidding  them  never  to  be  taken 
alive. 

While  he  thus  felt  for  others,  it  was  equally  charac- 
teristic of  him  that  he  was  resolved  to  see  for  himself. 
He  has  been  known  to  go  miles  to  ascertain  the  actual 
state  of  the  case  in  any  important  matter.  In  1838-39, 
the  western  part  of  New  York  was  in  a  state  of  great 
excitement,  caused  by  what  was  dignified  at  the  time 
by  the  name  of  the  "Patriot  War,"  a  border  out- 
break. Concklin,  true  to  his  character,  determined 
to-  go  and  see  what  it  all  amounted  to.  He  knew  that 
Canada  was  the  refuge  of  the  fugitive  slave,  and  he 
was  anxious  that  that  refuge  should  be  preserved  for 
the  oppressed.  Leaving  his  business,  he  went  straight 
to  the  frontier,  crossed  over  to  Navy  Island,  where  the 
head-quarters  of  the  Patriots  then  were,  and  enlisted 
with  them,  under  the  command  of  the  so-called  Gen. 
Van  Eanssalaer.  His  purpose  was  to  discover  the  de- 
signs and  strength  of  the  Patriots,  and  make  them 
known  to  the  Canadian  authorities.  After  looking 
about  him  and  satisfying  himself  as  to  the  character 
and  objects  of  the  Patriot  army,  he  desired  to  be  dis- 


SETH   CONCKLIN.  393 

missed  from  the  service.  But  this  was  not  permitted. 
His  taciturn  manners,  his  evident  disinclination  to 
associate  familiarly  with  the  people  among  whom  he 
found  himself,  caused  him  to  be  suspected  as  a  spy, 
and  closely  watched.  Finding  his  situation  more  and 
more  uncomfortable,  he  determined  to  escape  from  the 
island  at  all  hazards.  He  waited  one  day  till  nearly 
dark,  and,  when  the  sentinel's  back  was  turned 
towards  him,  he  unfastened  a  skiff  at  the  landing,  and 
with  no  other  oar  than  a  piece  of  board,  watched  his 
chance  and  pushed  off.  He  knew  that  if  he  should 
lose  his  paddle,  he  must  be  carried  down  the  Niagara 
river  and  over  the  Falls,  an  appalling  contingency. 
Scarcely  had  he  started  when  he  was  seen  and  fired 
upon.  The  ball  struck  his  paddle,  nearly  knocking  it 
from  his  grasp.  He  succeeded,  however,  in  reaching 
the  American  shore,  at  Schlosser,  in  safety.  At  this 
point  a  guard  had  been  stationed  by  the  Patriots,  and 
he  was  forbidden  to  land.  Compelled  to  acknowledge 
himself  a  deserter  from  Navy  Island,  he  was  seized 
and  very  roughly  handled,  and  sent  back  to  the 
island.*  There,  by  order  of  Van  Kanssalaer,  he  was 
confined  and  closely  guarded  in  a  log-house,  which 
was  so  situated  as  to  be  exposed  to  the  guns  on  the 
Canada  side.  He  could  save  himself  from  being  hit 
only  by  lying  prostrate  on  the  ground,  as  the  sentinel 

*  Another  account  says,  that  Concklin  was  taken  by  the 
American  troops  under  Col.  Worth,  stationed,  professedly  to  guard 
the  neutrality  of  the  United  States,  on  Grand  Island,  which  lies  so 
near  to  Navy  Island,  that  the  "Patriots"  called  to  the  American 
forces  and  informed  them  that  Concklin  was  a  deserter  ;  and  he 
was  sent  back,  the  United  States'  officer  stipulating  only  that  he 
should  not  be  hurt.  . 

17* 


394:  APPENDIX. 

who  stood  guard  over  Mm.  threatened  to  shoot  him 
when  he  sought  the  protection  of  the  breastwork,  to 
which  the  sentinel  himself  had  recourse.  Several  shots 
passed  over  him,  within  two  or  three  feet  of  him, 
through  the  upper  part  of  his  prison.  The  Patriots 
said  they  intended  the  British  should  kill  their  own 

spy- 

On  the  evacuation  of  the  Island  by  the  Patriots, 
which  took  place  about  a  week  after  Concklin  was 
put  in  confinement,  he  was  left  behind — the  only  man^ 
in  the  place.  It  was  the  month  of  January.  His  suf- 
ferings from  cold  and  hunger  were  severe.  He  was 
the  last  twenty-four  hours  without  food.  He  tied  his 
handkerchief  to  a  pole,  and  took  his  station  opposite 
the  Canadian  side.  The  signal  was  observed;  and 
very  soon  a  boat  came  off  and  took  him  in,  and  con- 
veyed him  to  Canada.  There  he  was  subjected  to  a 
very  close  examination  by  a  board  of  officers.  In 
answer  to  their  inquiries,  he  gave  them  a  minute  ac- 
count of  all  that  had  occurred  from  his  leaving  Syra- 
cuse up  to  the  hour  of  his  examination.  His  state- 
ment was  committed  to  writing  by  several  different 
persons.  The  examination  was  repeated  two  or  three 
times.  He  was  well  treated,  and  kindly  provided  for 
during  the  few  days  he  remained  on  the  Canada  side. 
When  the  investigation  was  ended,  and  he  was  about 
to  return  to  the  States,  it  was  proposed  to  him  that  he 
should  swear  to  the  truth  of  what  he  had  stated.  To 
this  proposal  he  readily  acceded.  His  affidavit  was 
published  in  the  papers  at  the  time.  When  he  arrived 
in  Buffalo,  he  published  a  statement  of  his  treatment 
by  the  United  States  officers  on  Grand  Island  in  one 
of  the  leading  journals  of  that  city.  And  he  also 


SETH   CONCKLIN.  ,  395 

made  complaint  at  the  War  Department  in  Washing- 
ton, forwarding  to  the  Secretary  a  copy  of  his  publica- 
tion in  the  Buffalo  paper.  The  Secretary  of  War  di- 
rected the  District  Attorney  of  the  Northern  District 
of  New  York  to  look  into  the  case.  That  officer, 
living  at  a  distance,  caused  some  inquiries  to  be  made 
in  Syracuse  in  regard  to  the  veracity  of  the  complain- 
ant; and  honorable  testimonials  to  his  uprightness 
were  presented.  The  case,  however,  was  never  fol- 
lowed up.  Concklin  was,  for  a  time,  quite  a  lion  at 
Buffalo,  on  account  of  his  prominence  in  those  border 
difficulties. 

Not  many  months  after  the  affair  at  Navy  Island, 
Concklin's  interest  was  awakened  in  the  events  which 
were  transpiring  on  our  Southern  border.  He  wanted 
to  know  what  the  United  States  Government  was 
doing  in  Florida  among  the  Indians  there.  The  news- 
papers had  much  to  say  of  our  arms  in  that  quarter. 
Without  Consulting  with  any  one,  he  resolved  to  visit 
that  part  of  the  country.  As  the  best  way  of  getting 
there,  and  learning  what  he  wanted  to  know,  he  en- 
listed in  the  United  States  service.  The  first  intima- 
tion of  his  whereabouts,  which  his  friends  in  Syracuse 
received,  was  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  directed  to  one 
of  them,  which  we  here  transcribe : 

"  Talahasse,  Middle  Florida,  May  9, 1840. 

"JOSEPH  SAVAGE:  My  object  in  writing  to  you  is 
that  it  may  be  known  in  Syracuse  where  I  am ;  and  I 
request  that  you  write  to  me.  I  have  heard  nothing 
from  Syracuse  in  a  year.  Direct  your  letter  to  Tala- 
hasse, Middle  Florida.  Should  you  receive  this,  and 


396  APPENDIX. 

the  postage  not  be  paid,  let  me  know  it.  I  am  now 
fifty  miles  from  the  post-office. 

"Last  fall  I  came  from  Pittsburgh,  by  way  of  New 
Orleans  and  the  Gulf,  to  St.  Marks,  and  eighty  miles 
east  of  St.  Marks,  on  the  6th  of  January,  and  entered 
on  the  campaign  with  the  1st  and  6th  Regiments, 
United  .States  Infantry,  a  few  dragoons  and  several 
companies  of  volunteers,  on  their  way  through  all  the 
hammocks  in  Middle  Florida  to  the  Suwannie  river, 
hunting  Indians.  Near  the  end  of  January  our  forces 
met  on  the  Suwannie  river,  below  Old  Town  (for- 
merly an  Indian  Tillage  destroyed  by  Jackson),  oppo- 
site Fort  Fanning,  East  Florida,  having  driven  before 
us  a  few  Indians,  discovered  in  the  Old  Town  ham- 
mocks. All  the  companies  (now  the  1st  February) 
were  directed  back  on  their  trails,  scouting  through  to 
keep  down  the  Indians.  There  does  not  seem  to  be 
any  very  formidable  force  of  Indians  in  Florida;  and  I 
believe  that  a  part  of  the  murders  charged  on  the 
Indians  are  committed  by  the  white  settlers,  and  many 
of  the  public  (official  ?)  reports  of  the  whites  and  the 
Indians  being  killed  or  taken  are  untrue. 

"  Nearly  all  the  white  male  settlers  in  Middle  Flo- 
rida, over  twelve  years  of  age,  receive  from  Govern- 
ment twenty -two  dollars  per  month  and  rations.  There 
is  now  a  report  that  a  man  found  in  a  hammock  five 
Indians  in  the  act  of  torturing,  by  fire,  his  son.  He 
killed  four  of  them,  and  the  fifth  ran  away.  Should 
this  be  published,  you  must  believe  it  without  proof. 
I  believe  these  reports  are  only  pretences  to  keep  up 
this  shameful  war. 

"  March  21st,  I  left  a  post  near  Old  Town  Hammock 
alone,  unarmed,  and  travelled  one  hundred  miles 


SETH   COXOKLIN.  397 

tlirougli  tlio  plains  and  hammocks  without  seeing  a 
human  being  in  five  days.  This  circumstance  alone 
would  convince  uninterested  people  that  there  are  not 
many  Indians. 

"But  I  have  further  proof  that  no  great  danger  is 
apprehended  from  the  Indians,  from  the  fact  that  a 
company  of  United  States  Infantry  near  Old  Town 
Hammock,  one  of  the  most  interior  towns  in  Middle 
Florida,  frequently  send  out  scouting  parties  through 
the  hammocks  without  loaded  guns  and  without  am- 
munition, though  they  carry  their  guns  with  them,  but 
as  a  mere  matter  of  form.  I  do  not  know  that  the 
blood-hounds  find  any  Indians ;  though  it  appears  that 
in  East  Florida  the  dogs,  the  Spaniards,'  and  our  sol- 
diers have  captured  one  old  Indian. 

"SETH  OONCKLIN."   . 

s~  * 

In  another  letter  of  the  same  date,  addressed  to  a 
brother-in-law  in  Philadelphia,  he  repeats  the  same 
particulars,  and  gives,  in  addition,  some  brief  and 
striking  instances  of  his  observation.  "  I  have  seen," 
he  writes,  "some  of  the  slaves  on' the  north  border  of 
Middle  Florida.  They  are  much  more  intelligent  than 
their  owners,  probably  from  their  being  from  farther 
north." 

The  following  winter,  Concklin  appeared  again  un- 
expectedly in  Syracuse.  From  that  time  till  he  went 
upon  the  chivalrous  enterprise  which  cost  him  his  life, 
he  is  believed  to  have  resided  principally  in  Troy, 
occasionally  visiting  "  his  family"  and  his  sister  JCve- 
line  married,  and  resident  in  Philadelphia.  More  than 
once  he  made  the  journey  from  Syracuse  to  Phila- 
delphia, all  the  way  on  foot.  He  appears  to  have 


398  APPENDIX. 

commanded  the  confidence  of  all  who  knew  him.  He 
was  a  man  of  an  "  incorrigible  and  losing  honesty," 
abhorring  deceptions  and  injustice,  and  making  every 
injured  man's  cause  his  own.  Altogether  he  was  a 
man  of  heroic  character.  His  life  was  a  romance — 
an  heroic  poem. 

A  gentleman  of  Syracuse,  with  whom  Concklin 
lived  two  years,  states,  that  on  one  occasion  he  sent 
Seth  fifty  miles  from  home  for  a  horse.  He  was  pro- 
vided with  money  to  defray  his  expenses  to  and  fro 
by  boat  or  stage.  His  employer  was  greatly  surprised 
to  see  him  returning  leading  the  horse,  instead  of 
riding  him.  The  saddle  and  a  bag  of  oats  were  on  the 
horse's  back.  He  returned  nearly  all  the  money  which 
had  been  given  him  for  the  expenses  of  the  journey. 
It  appeared  that  he  had  walked  to  the  place  where  the 
horse  was  to  be  obtained  in  one  day,  on  returning  he 
took  two  days,  as  being  encumbered  with  a  horse,  he 
could  not  walk  so  fast  as  without  one. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  here  the  story  of  the  hu- 
mane and  daring  enterprise  in  which  he  lost  his  life. 
Various  accounts  of  it  went  the  rounds  of  the  news- 
papers at  the  time.  "We  give  the  following  from  a 
Pittsburgh  (Pa.)  journal,  bearing  date,  Thursday  morn- 
ing, May  29,  1851 : 

"  A  SINGULAR  ENTERPRISE. — During  the  last  trip 
of  the  steamer  Paul  Anderson,  Captain  GrRAY,  she  took 
on  board,  at  Evansville,  Indiana,  a  United  States 
Marshal,  having  in  custody  an  intelligent  white  man, 
named  J.  H.  MILLER,  and  a  family  of  four  slaves — 
mother,  daughter,  and  two  sons.  Captain  GRAY  sub- 
sequently learned  from  Mrs.  Miller  that  he  had  been 


SETH   CONCKLIN.  399 

employed  by  some  persons  in  Cincinnati  to  go  to 
Florence,  Alabama,  and  bring  away  this  family  of 
slaves — the  woman's  husband  being  in  a  free  State. 
For  this  purpose,  with  a  six-oared  barge,  procured  at 
Cincinnati,  Miller  had  gone  down  the  Ohio  and  up  the 
Tennessee  River,  to  Florence,  there  laid  in  wait  till  an 
opportunity  occurred,  and  privily  taken  away  the 
family  of  slaves.  The  barge  was  rowed  down  the 
Tennessee,  and  up  the  Ohio,  to  the  Wabash,  and  up 
that  river  till  within  thirty  miles  of.  Yincennes,  where . 
the  party  was  overtaken  and  captured  by  the  Marshal. 
The  unfortunate  Miller  was  then  chained,  to  be  taken 
back  to  Florence  for  trial  and  sure  condemnation,  by 
Alabama  slave  laws.  The  Paul  Anderson  having 
landed  at  Smithland,  mouth  of  Cumberland  River,  Mr. 
Miller  made  an  attempt  to  escape  from  her  to  the 
steamer  Mohican,  lying  alongside,  but,  encumbered  by 
his  manacles  and  clothing,  was  drowned.  The  body 
was  recovered  and  buried  about  a  week  afterwards. 
The  slaves  went  back  to  bondage.  The  barge  was 
rowed  down  the  Tennessee  273  miles,  up  the  Ohio  100 
miles,  and  up  the  Wabash  50  miles,  before  the  party 
were  overtaken.  Mr.  Miller,  we  learn,  had  a  sister 
and  other  relatives  in  or  near  Philadelphia.  He  was 
a  mill-wright  by  occupation,  and  owned  property  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Vincennes." 

So  far  the  public  press.  As  these  accounts  are  very 
imperfect,  a  person  was  found  who  offered  to  go  to 
Indiana  and  make  such  inquiries  as  might  relieve,  in 
some  measure,  the  painful  anxiety  of  Mr.  Concklin's 
relatives  and  friends,  and  to  obtain  his  remains,  or,  at 
least,  if  practicable,  cause  them  to  be  disinterred  and 


400  APPENDIX. 

examined.     We  subjoin  a  copy  of  the  written  state- 
ment made  by  this  agent  of  Mr.  Concklin's  friends. 

Statement. 

Mr.  Chandler  (I  think),  at  Evansville,  in  answer  to 
a  question  as  to  his  knowledge  of  Miller  and  the  ab- 
ducted negroes,  said,  I  could  obtain  information  of 
John  S.  Gavitt,  the  former  Marshal  of  Evansville. 
He  (?)  himself  believed  and  told  the  parties  at  the 
.  time,  that  the  proceedings  by  which  Miller  was  taken 
out  of  the  State  were  illegal,  and  if  such  things  were 
to  be  tolerated,  no  white  man  was  safe. 

I  next  called  upon  John  S.  Gavitt,  who  treated  me 
very  respectfully,  and  seemed  not  only  willing  but 
anxious  to  impart  every  information.  He  told  me 
that  he  had  Miller  and  the  negroes  in  custody,  and 
that  he  delivered  them  on  board  the  steamboat,  in  care 
of  Mr.  John  Emison,  of  Evansville,  to  be  delivered  to 
the  authorities  in  Florence,  Alabama.  I  asked  him  by 
what  authority  they  were  taken.  He  said  he  had  the 
writs  in  his  possession,  made  out  by  Martin  Eobinson, 
Esq.,  of  Vincennes.  I  asked  to  see  them.  He  showed 
them  to  me.  I  asked  for  the  privilege  of  copying 
them.  This  he  would  not  permit,  for  the  reason,  he 
said,  that  he  believed,  "We've  all  been  guilty  of 
illegal  proceedings,  and  if  it's  brought  out,  I  don't  want 
to  give  our  enemies  any  advantage."  He  said,  it  was 
no  more  he  than  others.  "  I  believe,"  said  he,  "  we've 
all  done  wrong."  The  writ  for  the  apprehension  of 
Miller  was  based  upon  an  affidavit  by  the  aforesaid 
John  S.  Gavitt,  before  Squire  Eobinson,  in  which  he 
swears  that  Miller  abducted  from  B.  McKiernan,  of 
Florence,  Ala.,  the  four  negroes.  And  the  writ  or- 


SETH  CONCKLIN.  401 

dered  the  said  Gavitt  to  take  the  said  Miller  and  safely 
deliver  him  to  the  Sheriff  in  said  Florence,  to  be  dealt 
with  according  to  law.  The  authority  quoted,  I  thinly 
was,  Sec.  1,  No.  62  of  the  Statutes  of  Indiana.  (I 
wrote  from  memory,  not  being  permitted  to  copy.) 
The  other  writ  for  returning  the  negroes  was  made,  I 
think,  upon  the  affidavit  of  James  M.  Emison,  the  man 
who  first  took  them  up  on  suspicion.  The  said  James 
M.  Emison  is  not  an  officer.  • 

I  asked  Gavitt  how  he  could  know  the  circum- 
stances stated  in  the  writ  well  enough  to  make  such 
an  oath  ?  He  then  stated  substantially  as  follows : 
.  That  on  or  about  the  28th  of  March  last,  he  received 
a  dispatch  from  Yincennes,  stating  that  four  negroes 
had  been  taken  up  on  suspicion,  with  the  man  Miller. 
He  in  turn  telegraphed  South,  and  soon  got  returns 
describing  the  negroes  and  Miller.  He  started  at  once 
for  Vincennes,  and  drove  the  whole  distance  (55  miles) 
in  six  hours.  He 'says  he  made  the  oath  because  he 
was  convinced  from  the  description  l>y  telegraph,  and 
from  conversations  with  the  boy  Levin,  that  they  were 
the  same.  There  seemed  to  be  an  indistinctness  and. 
confusion  in  Gavitt's  statements,  and  though  I  con- 
versed with  him  two  hours,  and  he  freely  answered 
all  questions,  I  did  not  fully  rely  on  him.  For  in- 
stance, he  would  state  at  one  time  that  he  believed 
Miller  perfectly  honest  and  conscientious  in  his  course ; 
yet,  at  another  time  said,  that  Miller  owned  to  him  that 
he  was  to  get  $1,000  for  the  job.  He  says,  his  main 
effort,  while  Miller  was-  in  his  charge,  was  to  get  him 
to  turn  State's  evidence,  and  upon  that  condition  agreed 
to  let  him  go.  This  Miller  positively  refused  to  do, 
thongh  he  confessed  that  there  were  four  others  con- 


402  APPENDIX. 

concerned  with  him.  He  said  Miller  offered  him 
$1,000  if  he,  would  let  him  go.  The  reward  of- 
ered  for  Miller,  he  said,  was  $600,  and  $400  for 
the  negroes.  The  story  that  Miller  told  him  was, 
that  the  negroes  were  his — his  brother  in  Hender- 
son (Kentucky)  having  emancipated  them  after  they 
should  have  worked  upon  his  farm  near  Spring- 
field (Illinois)  a  certain  length  of  time.  He  says 
Miller  had  shaved  his  whiskers,  and  cut  off  his  hair 
after  he  was  first  discovered  by  James  M.  Emison. 
When  he  was  about  putting  him  on  the  boat,  Miller 
called  him  aside  and  told  him  he  would  give  the  names 
of  his  accomplices  if  he  would  let  him  go.  He  told 
him  it  was  too  late  then,  upon  which  Miller  became  a 
perfect  picture  of  despair,  and  walking  suddenly  to  the 
side  of  the  boat,  he  thought,  with  a  determination  to 
throw  himself  overboard,  but  was  caught  by  John 
Emison.  Understanding  that  while  Miller  was  in 
custody  of  Gavitt,  he  was  kept  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Sherwood  (a  relative),  the  present  Marshal  of  Evans- 
ville,  and  that  he  had  conversation  with  Gavitt's 
mother,  I  requested  to  have  her  called  in.  She  said 
she  felt  very  sorry  for  him,  and  tried  very  hard  to  get 
him  to  turn  State's  evidence  ;  but  he  said,  nobody  was 
to  be  blamed  in  the  affair  but  himself,  and  that  he  was 
not  at  all  sorry  for  what  he  had  done ;  he  had  done 
his  duty — a  Christian  duty — and  felt  a  clear  conscience. 
Gavitt  said  that  McKiernan  told  him  that  Miller  should 
be  hung  if  it  cost  him  $1,500. 

Further  evidence  was  procured  from  the  office  of 
the   Evansville    Journal. 

From  Evansville  to  Princeton,  and  thence  to  Vin- 


SETII   CONCKLIK.  403 

cennes,  I  went  in  company  with  Col.  Clark  and  son, 
of  the  latter  place.  He  (the  Col.)  gave  a  statement  cf 
the  affair,  which  made  it  take  quite  another  direction 
from  Gavitt's  story.  He  placed  Gavitt  in  no  very  en- 
viable light.  Pie  said  that  there  was  a  jar  between 
him  (Gavitt)  and  the  Emisons  about  the  spoils.  Of 
course  the  sending  back  of  the  "  d — d  Abolitionist"  to 
Alabama,  was  all  right  with  him  (the  Colonel). 

Having  been  directed  by  Gavitt  to  call  on  Mr.  John 
Emison,  in  Vincennes,  I  did  so.  He  was  pointed  out 
to  me  in  the  street  as  the  stage  agent,  or,  perhaps, 
proprietor.  I  called  him  aside,  and  told  him  that, 
having  some  business  in  Vincennes,  I  had  been  re- 
quested by  a  friend  of  Miller's  friends  to  make  inquiry 
concerning  him ;  upon  which  the  said  John  Emison 
broke  forth  in  a  strain  like  the  following  :  "  Now,  my 
friend,  you'd  better  be  pretty  d — d  careful  how  you 
come  into  this  place  and  make  inquiry  about  such 
men  as  Miller."  "  You've  waked  up  the  wrong  pas- 
sengers." "And  you  might  get  yourself  into  the 
W  abash  river."  "  If  you'll  take  my  advice  as  a 
friend,  you'd  better  leave  town  on  pretty  d — d  short 
notice."  "  We  don't  allow  any  G — d  d — d  Aboli- 
tionist going  about  this  town,"  &c.,  &c.,  with  many 
other  extras  too  numerous  to  mention.  I  told  him 
my  object  in  making  inquiry  of  him  was  a  specific  one 
— solely  to  gratify,  or  rather  to  satisfy,  Miller's  friends, 
and  if  such  a  course  was  likely  to  produce  a  disturb- 
ance in  the  place,  I  was  very  sorry.  But  out  of 
respect  to  those  who  entrusted  the  inquiries  to  me,  I 
felt  bound  to  learn  what  I  could.  Emison  partially 
apologised  for  his  haste,  and  said  he  was  mad  at  the 
d — d  Abolitionists  on  the  Paul  Anderson,  who  threat- 


40i  APPENDIX. 

ened  to  throw  him  overboard.  (See  Evansville  Journal, 
p.  27.)  He  said  he  felt  for  Miller,  as  deeply  as  any- 
body could — that  he  was  courageous,  and  that  anybody 
that  was  bold  enough  to  jump  overboard  deserved  to 
get  a\vay.  "  But,"  said  he,  "  he's  dead  and  buried — 

he's  gone  to  with  his  manacles  on,  so  you'll 

know  him  when  he  comes  up  in  the  resurrection." 
He  said  he  would  let  me  have  a  letter,  which  he  had 
received  from  the  young  Mr.  McKiernan,  containing 
further  evidence  of  Miller's  death,  -in  addition  to  the 
letter  from  Hodge. 

Mr.  Chandler,  of  whom  I  first  spoke,  told  me  that 
he  was  informed  by  Gavitt  that  the  lawyer,  who  had 
taken  a  fee  from  Miller  of  some  $50,  or  $80  (as  some 
said) — when  Miller  was  brought  into  court,  said  law- 
yer refused  to  undertake  his  case — having  received  a 
fee  of  $25,  from  the  other  party.  I  asked  Gavitt  about 
this :  he  said  it  was  true,  for  he  had  paid  him  the  $25 
himself,  though  he  could  not  tell  me  what  the  man's 
name  was. 

William  T.  Scott,  sheriff  and  jailor  of  Knox  Co., 
told  me  the  slaves  were  brought  to  the  jail  in  the 
morning  (Friday,  I  think),  and  the  request  made  by 
James  Emison,  that  they  should  be  put  in :  he  admit- 
ted them,  though  he  told  me  he  knew  he  had  no  busi- 
ness to  do  so.  Said  Emison  &  Co.  told  him  they  had 
taken  the  negroes  the  previous  morning  about  day- 
light, as  they  were  crossing  a  bridge.  Miller  soon 
came  up,  and  claimed  them  as  his— they  had  been 
liberated  by  his  brother,  in  Henderson,  Ky.,  and  were 
to  serve  for  him  a  certain  time  near  Springfield. 
They  took  the  negroes  and  bound  them,  and  upon 
Miller's  threatening  them  with  law,  they  took  him 


SETH  CONCKLIN.  405 

also,  and  bound  him  and  put  him  in  the  wagon 
with  the  rest.  After  riding  five  or  six  miles,  and 
listening  to  the  logical  reasoning  of  Miller,  they  began 
to  be  alarmed,  lest  they  might  be  doing  something 
wrong  in  thus  binding  a  white  man,  without  due  pro- 
cess of  law,  so  they  untied  him  and  let  him  go.  He, 
however,  still  continued  to  follow  the  wagon,  and,  it 
being  still  dark,  before  they  were  aware,  Miller  was 
in  the  wagon  untying  the  negroes.  When  they  dis- 
covered this,  they  threatened  to  shoot  him  if  he  should 
again  attempt  it.  Miller  still  followed  the  wagon  to 
Vincennes,  where  the  slaves  were  committed  to  jail  as 
above.  A  telegraphic  dispatch  was  sent  to  Gavitt 
aforesaid,  at  Evausville,  and  by  him  sent  South,  from 
whence  he  obtained  an  answer  as  before  stated. 
Gavitt  went  to  Vincennes,  with  evidence  sufficient  to 
warrant  their  being  sent  back ;  but  would  not  give 
the  evidence,  or  make  any  move  in  the  premises,  till 
Emison  &  Co.  had  agreed  to  give  him  one  half  of  the 
reward.  This  agreed,  the  oath  was  made,  and  ^Miller 
arrested,  under  a  law  of  the  State,  for  detaining  fugi- 
tives from  their  lawful  owners.  Previous  to  this,  and 
I  think  on  the  same  day,  Miller  had  taken  out  a  habeas 
corpus,  under  which  the  slaves  were  said  to  be  de- 
livered; but  Judge  Bishop,  associate  judge  for  the 
circuit,  remanded  them  to  jail  till  the  next  day  at  12 
o'clock — of  course  without  any  claim  to  law,  but  (with) 
merely  a  suspicion  that  by  that  tune  evidence  might 
be  obtained  that  they  did  not  belong  to  themselves. 
"When  Gavitt  arrived,  and  Miller  was  taken  as  afore- 
said, his  lawyer,  Allen,  appeared  in  his  behalf^  and  the 
proceedings  against  him  were  quashed.  After  this, 
Miller  was  remanded  back  to  jail,  though  Allen  says 


406  APPENDIX. 

it  was  done  by  his  (Miller's)  own  request,  that  lie 
feared  the  mob,  &c.  While  Miller  was  thus  in  jail, 
the  owner  arrived,  and  found  his  work  all  made  ready 
to  his  hand.  True,  a  little  more  swearing  was  needed 
to  prove  Miller  the  abductor  of  the  negroes,  but  it  was 
readily  furnished  by  Marshal  Gavitt.  Scott  says  that 
a  young  man  now  in  jail,  and  with  whom  Miller  talked 
freely,  says,  he  (Miller)  had  a  quantity  of  gold  coin 
quilted  into  the  collar  of  his  coat.  Scott  thinks  it  was 
not  so,  as  he  himself  searched  him.  Scott  says,  Miller 
told  him  that  he  had  only  one  thing  to  regret  in  the 
transaction,  and  that  was  that  he  had  not  pursued  his 
own  course,  and  refused  to  listen  to  the  advice  of 
others.  He  says  the  negroes  were  well  trained,  and 
all  told  the  same  story  with  Miller  until  the  master 
came,  when  they  owned  him — at  least  all  of  them  but 
Peter.  Upon  Miller's  second  sham  trial,  he  owned  all 
the  facts  in  the  case,  and  pleaded  justification.  He 
was  asked  why  he  undertook  the  work  without  being 
armed :  he  said,  if  he  had  carried  weapons  he  should 
have  probably  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  use  them,  and 
in  that  case  would  certainly  have  been  overcome ;  con- 
sequently, he  had  not  allowed  himself  even  a  penknife. 
I  went  to  see  C.  M.  Allen,  Esq.,  to  inquire  about  the 
two  fees,  and  other  matters.  I  told  him  that  in  justice 
to  himself,  some  explanation  should  be  given.  He 
stated  in  substance  as  follows :  "  That  on  the  morning 
of  the  day  on  which  the  negroes  were  brought  into 
town,  Miller  came  to  his  house  very  early — before  he 
was  up — he  told  the  same  story  that  he  did  to  the  cap- 
tors about  the  slaves  of  his  brother,  at  Henderson,  &c. ; 
and  wished  Allen  to  take  out  a  habeas  corpus  to  liber- 
ate the  slaves.  He  told  Miller  that  it  was  a  trouble- 


SETH  COXCKLIN.  407 

some  case,  and  if  lie  undertook  it  he  should  charge 
him  a  heavy  fee.  Miller  asked,  how  much  ?  The  re- 
ply was,  one  hundred  dollars.  Miller  promptly  said, 
'  I  won't  give  it.'  As  Mr.  Miller  was  about  to  leave 
him,  he  called  him  back  and  told  him  it  was  a  hard 
case  to  be  placed  in  such^a  situation,  and  with  but  little 
means.  He  showed  his  purse  and  counted,  his  money 
before  him.  There  was  forty  dollars,  or  perhaps  a 
little  over,  in  gold,  silver  and  bills.  Miller  told  him 
if  he  would  undertake  his  case  he  would  give  him 
fifteen  dollars.  There  followed  a  parley  about  the  fee, 
and  Mr.  Allen  did  not  tell  me  how  much  he  received ; 
but  he  said  he  told  Miller,  if  he  had  not  told  him  the 
truth,  that  he  should  abandon  his  case  at  any  time, 
whenever  that  should  appear.  So  when  Miller  was 
brought  into  court,  after  the  arrival  of  McKiernan,  he 
refused  to  act  for  him,  because  the  evidence  seemed  so 
strong  that  Miller  had  misrepresented  the  thing  to  him. 
Allen,  it  appears,  acted  for  Miller,  in  taking  out  the 
habeas  corpus  for  the  negroes,  and  also  in  Miller's  trial 
on  the  indictment  for  breaking  the  law  of  Indiana ; 
both  of  which  resulted  in  Miller's  favor.  Upon  quash- 
ing the  proceedings  in  the  last  named  case,  Allen  made 
a  request  of  the  judge  that  Miller  should  be  remanded 
back  to  jail,  upon  his  own  request ;  that  he  probably 
had  his  own  reasons  for  such  request;  The  judge  told 
him  that  he  did  not  know  that  he  had  any  right  to  do 
so — if  he  would  show  him  law  for  it,  he  would  do  so. 
Allen  replied  that  he  did  not  know  that  he  could — it 
was  only  Miller's  request.  The  judge  complied.  Al- 
len gave  it  as  a  reason  that  he  feared  the  violence  of 
the  mob,  as  the  whole  place  was  in  a  high  state  of  ex- 
citement. While  thus  in  jail,  Gavitt  came  with  his 


408  APPENDIX. 

telegraphic  evidence  and  made  the  necessary  oath  to  havo 
Miller  apprehended,  and  remanded  to  Alabama,  as  a 
fugitive  from  justice. 

Gavitt  (who,  it  seems,  had  been  into  the  jail,  and 
tried  to  extort  a  confession  from  the  negroes),  told  me 
that  he  stated  to  the  court  ('Squire  Eobinson),  that  he 
was  aware  that  the  testimony  of  colored  persons  was 
not  admitted  by  law  on  such  occasions,  but  wished  to 
know  if  the  court  would  do  him  the  favor  to  listen  to 
the  statement  of  the  boy  Levin  ?  He  ('Squire  E.)  said 
he  would.  The  boy  then  owned  in  answer  to  questions 
put  to  him,  that  he  was  the  slave  of  '  Master  Kiernan,' 
and  that  he*  had  come  with  Miller  from  South  Florence, 
Ala.  I  asked  Gavitt  which  he  thought  had  the  most 
weight  with  the  court,  his  affidavit  or  the  negro's  state- 
ment? His  reply  was  :  '  The  nigger's  story  was  what 
done  it?  I  went  to  see  'Squire  Robinson,  and  asked 
him  to  let  me  see  the  law  by  whicli  Miller  was  remand- 
ed. He  said  there  was  a  law  shown  him  at  the  time, 
but  he  could  not  now  tell  what  or  where  it  was,  as  he 
kept  no  minute  of  the  proceedings. 

A  great  many  other  little  incidents  were  narrated 
during  the  four  days  that  I  was  in  Evansville,  Prince- 
ton, and  Vincennes,  that  might  be  elicited  by  ques- , 
tions  ;  but  I  have  given  the  most  important,  or  at  least 
that  which  I  considered  so.  From  the  feeling  mani- 
fested, I  saw  it  would  not  be  safe  for  me  to  go  to 
Smithland  to  disinter  the  body,  so  I  wrote  to  Mr. 
Hodge  for  the  verdict  of  the  Coroner's  jury,  and  any 
other  particulars  as  to  identity  which  he  might  be  able 
to  give.  Have  not  yet  received  an  answer. 

(Signed),  E.  JACOBS. 

Cincinnati,  June  11, 1851. 


SETH  CONCKLIN.  409 

From  these  statements  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  body  taken  from  the  Ohio  river,  near  Smithland. 
in  irons,  and  buried  in  irons,  was  the  body  of  Seth 
Concklin.  But  of  the  manner  of  his  death,  there  is  no 
direct  evidence.  Of  all  the  conjectures  that  may  be 
formed,  the  least  probable  is,  that  he  was  drowned  in 
an  attempt  to  escape.  Daring  as  he  was,  he  was  never- 
theless a  man  of  too  much  sagacity  to  have  dreamed 
of  escaping  by  the  water,  cumbered  as  he  was  with 
manacles.  The  most  probable  state  of  the  case  was 
that,  seeing  how  utterly  hopeless  the  prospect  was  for 
him,  if  he  once  entered  the  Southern  country,  he  tore 
himself  from  the  savage  clutch  of  cruel  men,  and 
threw  himself  upon  the  mercy  of  God.  The  suspicion 
of  foul  play  which  is  involuntarily  awakened,  is  put  at 
rest  by  the  consideration  that  his  captors  had  no 
temptation  to  murder  him.  They  knew  perfectly  well 
their  own  Slave  laws,  and  must  have  been  only  too 
eager  to  carry  him  back  alive  and  make  an  example 
of  him,  to  the  terror  of  their  slaves  and  of  all  who 
should  think  of  helping  them  to  escape. 

Although  he  was  buried  as  he  was  found,  in  chains, 
and  was  branded  with  the  name  of  "  negro  thief,"  and 
his  captors  exulted  in  their  blood-stained  rewards,  yet 
in  the  sight  of  Truth  and  of  Heaven,  he  is  joined  to 
the  noble  and  heroic  company  of  the  martyrs,  the 
tnartyrs  of  Freedom  and  Humanity. 


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